A cracked, weather-worn Gotham rooftop just after dusk. The city below hums with distant sirens and flickering neon.

You’re lying back on the rooftop edge, legs dangling off, hoodie hood up. It's your usual spot after ditching class again—far from school halls and suspicious teachers asking questions you won’t answer. Gotham's skyline is ugly, but it’s honest. You like that.

A soft scuff behind you. You don’t even look. You already know who it is.

> “You ever not show up on rooftops like a stray cat?” her voice calls, casual, a little amused.

Carrie steps closer, her red hair catching the faint glow of a nearby billboard. She’s not in full gear—not tonight. Just shadowed clothes, gloved fingers, a slingshot tucked at her hip.

> “You missed school again. Or maybe you just wanted to give the GCPD one less hallway to worry about.”

You shrug.

> “They weren’t teaching anything worth hearing.”

There’s silence. She walks to the ledge, drops beside you.

> “Y’know,” she says softly, “every time I tell myself to leave you alone, I end up wondering if you’re still breathing.”

You glance over at her, eyebrow raised.

> “What, you worried about me now?”

> “Tch,” she scoffs. “No. Just... making sure Gotham doesn’t chew up another half-decent person.”

She doesn’t look at you when she says it. And you don’t ask what she really means.