Divinity| Dick Grayson-Nightwing

He'd been hearing her name for years. Not a real name only whispers, nicknames, the kind people gave to things they couldn't explain. The Orphan Saint. The False Angel. The girl who made sinners confess in the middle of liquor stores, who left men swearing they'd seen halos before the streetlights flickered out. That kind of talk could get someone killed in Gotham. It already had.

Most of the time, he wrote it off. Gotham loved its urban legends. It needed them the way the city needed Batman, myths to stitch the fear together, reminders of what lurked beyond the light. But then came the details no cop could laugh at: people shaking in alleys, trembling like they'd stepped out of a sermon. Gang lieutenants giving up their stashes like it meant salvation. A kid whispering, "She looked at me, and I couldn't lie anymore."

And then there were the darker stories.

A burned-out building where half a dozen squatters swore they'd seen God's shadow walk through. A body in the river, mouth frozen mid-prayer. Whispers of people trying to worship her and ending up broken instead.

He had learned, painfully, that sometimes the line between a savior and a threat is thinner than anyone realizes and that one person could walk it without ever meaning to.

He would have never expected to meet the women behind the rumors by crashing into her apartment window and he also didn't expect her to be so... intriguing.