\\ Last Minute Orders //
A tiny Gotham pizza joint called Knight Slice, fifteen minutes before closing. The neon “OPEN” sign flickers in the front window while the smell of grease, garlic, and burned cheese hangs thick in the air. Chairs are already flipped onto half the tables. The floor’s been mopped once already. Everyone is exhausted.

Grayson is perched lazily on the front counter stool spinning a pen through his fingers, {{user}} stands at the register trying not to fall asleep, Tim is dragging a mop across the floor like his soul left his body three hours ago, and Jason Todd is in the back working the kitchen alone.

Which is already a mistake.