"Dick—we've got another Omen strike."

Quickly pausing my game and leaping up from the couch, I see Bruce coming in the door, waving a flashdrive. "Where? Maybe we can figure out her next target and finally catch her."

"I don't know, though. Her M.O. has mainly been minor targets. Taking down crime lords in the service of other crime lords. This security footage caught her breaking into the office of the mayor."

My mouth drops. "I thought the mayor was top security."

"She is. But nothing was stolen." Dropping his coat on the couch I'm sitting on, I see him heading over to the Batcave entrance. Not technically the real 'cave, of course, but the secure, inner area of the penthouse. A penthouse within a penthouse. Pentception? Yeah—Bruce showed me the movie. But I run to follow him as he takes the elevator down.

The moment we've arrived, he pulls up the footage. It's able to track her down the hallway and all the way into the room. "How come she didn't deactivate the cameras?"

"I don't think she's concerned. Everyone knows who she is anyway, and the more she's seen doing things, the more likely she'll be noticed and hired." He watches and taps the screen. "See that? She used her gloves to hack the combination lock on the door. Then she scanned for pressure pads in the floor—with a heat pulse, innovative—before going in. She's good."

"Batman, she's a criminal for hire."

"She's still good at what she does. Wait—there." He pauses the screen, at the point where Omen reached the mayor's desk and reached down to one of the drawers.

"I thought the mayor locked her drawers."

"Just a simple lock. Nothing that can't be picked." He plays the video a little farther, showing Omen pulling a few sheets of paper out of the drawer, that look blank on the tape. Then she puts a flashlight behind it. The reaction is immediate—she covers the flashlight, putting the papers back and running out of the office. Rewinding to the paper she was illuminating, Bruce taps the screen. The center of the paper is lighter than the rest. That'll be Mayor Grange's watermark, that she uses to ensure her documents can't be forged like they were last time. But why—?"

Realization strikes me as Bruce puzzles. "The mayor's room isn't marked, is it? It's only a temporary station for the campaign anyway, not the mayor's actual office at town hall. Omen didn't know she was stealing from the mayor until she read the watermark. And being a relatively low-time thief, she wouldn't want to get mixed up in political affairs."

Bruce sighs and nods. "I think you're right. And that means that we're no closer to catching her in the act. She goes too fast." He shakes his head and shuts off the screen. "What was that you were playing earlier?"

"Portal 2."

"Is it multiplayer?"

Since we're so close to town, Alfred's been spending tons of time with Jackson down in the city. Normally I'd go with him, but today they were going to a baseball game. Just the two of them. And Barbara has some kind of gymnastics competition outside Gotham. I think Bruce knew that, and that's why he's back from his social events early. He's trying to be a good father, and I appreciate that.

I still sleep at night despite being Robin, since it'd look suspicious if I slept during the day. Bruce can do whatever he wants and nobody cares, but I've got to keep up appearances. I keep my door cracked in case Bruce needs me, but crawl under the covers and soon drift off.

It's probably about one in the morning when I snap awake to the sound of someone beside my bed. It's not a careless sound, like a squeak. It's a soft, defeated, "Shit." It takes a moment for me to realize that it's a girl's voice, and I look up to see Omen standing over my bed, the glint of a silvery knife clutched in her right fist, studying me. It's the sight of the weapon that jolts me to action, but by the time I'm up, she's gone, escaped out of the window she entered through. I call for Bruce, trying to figure out where Omen went, but he doesn't come. Where is he? Without knowing what else to do, I sprint across the carpet and out the door, to the first hidden lift (behind the grandfather clock) that I know will take me down to the tower's bat-center.

I'm planning to pull my suit on and take the batpod into the city, to see if I can track Omen, but I've barely put my foot on the cold metal grating outside the lift when I catch sight of what's below me, in the cave. Bruce is standing there, dressed completely as Batman except minus the mask. And standing behind him is a girl. Really young, probably somewhere around my age. A face made older by narrowed grey eyes that make me uneasy. And the girl is wearing a black suit and gloves, mask dangling from her hand, as she takes in the entire scene with extreme suspicion.

"Dick, this is Tana Drader," says Bruce, gesturing to Omen. "And for better or for worse, she'll be helping us for a little while."

Minutes before

Tana became increasingly nervous as she crept up the side of Wayne Tower. The readings she was getting off of her gloves told her that she hadn't been detected yet, but it was a big night. A night that could determine her entire future. All it needed was a first kill.

The night was still, and oddly warm, hinting at the approach of summer. But the city bustled below her, as it always did. Some nights it gave her comfort, the light and life that drifted up from the streets. Tonight, the glow seemed to be one enormous eye that watched her every move.

At last—the top. It took her a while to find a spot where the security cameras moved, to allow her a gap to dart to the roof so that she could disable them. EMPing them would still cause an alert, and she was trying to be extra cautious tonight—she set them on loop. She then dropped back down to the top floor window ledge. Seeing light pouring from most of the upper windows, she only allowed herself a single peek into each one. It was a posh, polished penthouse, but devoid of any signs of life. It was only as she reached the fourth window that her adrenaline spiked and she forced herself to sit on the window ledge for ten seconds to recollect her breath. She hadn't even seen her target—it was the sight of Bruce Wayne, sitting at a table inside, sipping a cup of coffee, that made her uneasy. After all, Dick Grayson was his adoptive son.

The name "Grayson" rung a bell for some reason, but Tana was absolutely sure that she'd never met anyone belonging to the family. Maybe she'd read a news article about them at one point?

A few windows over, her heart moved up to start pounding in her throat.

The room was wide and spacious, but quite clearly belonged to a young boy. Books lining the shelves, a video game system plugged into the TV in the corner, a bright rug on the floor and small clothes strewn throughout the room. There was a four-poster bed tucked into the corner, and Tana's heart skipped a beat when she saw that there was a form underneath the covers, chest slowly rising and falling.

Recovering her posture, she used her gloves to take a reading of the window and the wiring surrounding it. Any attempt to open or break the window would result in an alarm being set off. All of the other windows had shown the same readings. But the wiring from them all seemed to be going to the same place, somewhere deep within the facility. That meant that it wasn't hooked up to any bells or lights; a silent alarm. And since it wasn't any maker she recognized, she guessed that it was custom-made—the alarm would probably go off if the alarm itself was disabled.

Churning in frustration, she studied the window and decided she had no choice. She had to trip the silent alarm, get in, and get out before anyone arrived. She was wearing a sheath at her left hip, containing her steel knife, tipped with the poison she'd obtained from Maroni's supplier. Plant-based, not synthetic. It would biodegrade fast and be harder to trace. In her right hand, she pulled out the knife, while she fired up her left glove. While she didn't recognize the alarm, she recognized the glass. It was thick, and as hard as diamonds. To cut it, even with a diamond saw, would take time—time in which alarms would be going off. Luckily, though, she'd at least made that modification to her gloves. After a deep breath, her glove was at maximum power. She swung her fist at the glass, and on the moment of impact, it emitted a sound-absorbing mini-shockwave to cover the noise.

Minutes. She had minutes before some kind of help arrived. Sliding her fingers into the hole she'd punched in the glass, she unlatched the window, pushing it open and dropping down to the carpet inside. Stealing over to the bed, she found the kid rolled with his back to her. Her eyes found the spot on his back underneath his shoulderblade, but between his ribs and spine, that led to his heart. She'd drawn on all her resolution and was bringing the knife down when he had the fortune to roll over.

And that night came flooding back to her.

The one that her life came toppling down—the one at the circus. She'd heard it could happen as a result of trauma, that people could lose memories. She remembered that night, but in her shock, she'd forgotten one detail, and that detail came flooding back at the sight of the boy's face.

Grayson. This was the boy who'd lost his parents at the circus that night.

At this point, she knew that she had seconds. He was on his back now, chest and neck exposed. Perfect target. She reminded herself what was at stake with this assignment, but screams edged their way to the front of her brain, the anguished cries of a little boy as his parents tumbled to their deaths below his eyes. And even as she gritted her teeth and hated the boy in front of her for the pain he was causing her, she knew that she couldn't do it. She swore aloud, letting the knife fall to her side, and saw him turn. But before he could get to his feet, she sprinted to the window and dropped away, shooting down the side of the building.

Halfway down, she realized that she couldn't return to the city. It wasn't just the reward that she'd failed to obtain by not completing her task—it was the consequence of leaving it unfinished. Usually, she got what she wanted, because she was stronger than the men at hand. She could take out Maroni's thugs, if she wanted. Hell, she could take him. But ten of his goons? Fifty? A hundred? He had no shortage of thugs in the underground of Gotham where she made her home. And if he saw her as a liability, a loose end, he would do anything to make sure she was cleaned up. What had she just done? And for something as ridiculous as sentiment? She couldn't—she'd trained herself to not—

She sat on a window ledge halfway down Wayne tower and yanked her mask off, pitching it down onto the stone beside her while burying her face in her hands. She had to focus. She had to think of something. She had to—

After a moment, she lowered her hands. "Gave yourself away, Wayne. That reaction time was much too fast. Three minutes, I'd say?"

The Batman was standing on the ledge next to her, having picked up her fallen mask. She had to admit that he was every bit as tall and imposing as the pictures and stories made him seem. He was studying the multiple reflective eyepieces sewn into the fabric. "You're pretty sharp."

"Maybe. Or maybe just not stupid. Well," she considered her actions up at the penthouse. "I don't even know anymore."

"Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in juvie, I suggest you give me that weapon right now and tell me who you are—and who you're working for."

Though she remained calm on the outside, Tana was panicking. And the first result of panic for her was always anger. Then, the fog cleared, and she finally understood what she had to do. "My name is Tana Drader. I'm a nobody that got lucky. And I was sent here to kill Richard by a guy named Sal Maroni." Tana handed her knife to Batman, hilt first. "Careful with that thing. It's poisoned."

Batman took the knife and stashed it somewhere in his utility belt. "Why would Maroni target Dick?"

"I'm caught anyway, Bats. I'm not saying another word to you."

"Tana," said Batman, sitting down next to her. "I've seen all the footage, you know. Read all the articles. I can tell by your M.O. that you aren't a bad person. You're not doing this for greed—you're doing it for survival. But there are better ways to survive."

"I know. I know, I really—I tried, Mr. Wayne. But now I've got no choice. If I help you now—Maroni will make sure that I never make it out of the GCPD alive. I can't help you. I'm sorry."

"What if I got you into witness protection? I can ensure your safety after this has blown over. But you have to tell me everything you know about Maroni's whereabouts."

Tana looked into his eyes and saw that he wasn't joking. He actually wanted to help her.

"You better deliver."