CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE BAT’S SHADOW

The rooftops of Gotham were unforgiving. The wind cut through the city with a bite that even her layered clothing couldn’t keep out. Crouched atop the rusted remains of a fire escape, Taylor locked her gaze on the warehouse below. Another one of Penguin’s supply hubs—one of the many she’d been keeping tabs on since confirming that the Calculator’s tech was in play.

She had spent most of the night watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to move.

That moment never came.

A group of enforcers had arrived minutes earlier, their voices tinged with frustration. Something had them spooked. She listened carefully, catching snippets of their conversation as they unloaded crates from a truck.

“Boss ain’t happy,” one of them grumbled, hefting a reinforced case out of the vehicle. “Too many jobs goin’ south. Someone’s been sniffin’ around.”

“Think it’s that new vigilante?” another asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Taylor’s grip tightened on the edge of the railing. They were talking about her.

“Who cares? We’ll handle ‘em if they show.” The first enforcer scoffed. “Bigger problem is the Bat. Someone’s pissed him off.”

A cold jolt ran through her gut. She scanned the perimeter again, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing. But if Batman was out there, she wouldn’t see him coming.

Below, the enforcers kept working, stacking crates of illicit weapons against the walls. The plan had been simple—wait for them to clear out, slip inside, and see what she could dig up. But if Batman was about to make his move…

She needed to leave.

Then the lights cut out.

A heartbeat later, they weren’t alone.

A grappling hook snapped through the air, wrapping around an enforcer’s leg before yanking him off his feet. Another barely had time to shout before a black shape dropped from above, moving like liquid shadow—slipping through the gloom so smoothly that even Taylor questioned whether she’d actually seen it. But she had. Him.

Batman.

The warehouse erupted with the sound of fists connecting with flesh, bodies hitting concrete.

Taylor pressed herself deeper into the shadows, barely breathing as she watched. The sudden urge to move, to act, was almost overwhelming. But what could she do? Step in and… what? Help? Batman didn’t need help.

She had seen trained capes fight before—brutal brawls, desperate scrambles, the kind that separated those who knew how to fight from those who only thought they did. Armsmaster had been like that. So had Lung, in his own monstrous way.

But this was something else.

Batman didn’t fight like a man. He fought like something else entirely. A ghost. A force of nature. Every movement felt like an afterimage of the last—there, then gone, striking from angles the enforcers couldn’t anticipate.

One thug swung wildly with a crowbar. Batman caught his wrist mid-strike, twisted with a sickening pop, then drove a knee into his ribs. A flash of motion—the crunch of impact as the man hit the floor, unconscious before he even finished falling.

Another tried to lift a rifle, only for a batarang to embed itself in his hand, sending the weapon clattering to the ground. He barely had time to scream before Batman was on him, a single blow dropping him where he stood.

It wasn’t a fight. It was a one-sided beatdown. Done in seconds.

Familiar, in a way that set her teeth on edge. The efficiency. The control. The way Batman took them apart without hesitation or wasted movement.

It reminded her of Armsmaster.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay still. It wasn’t the same. She knew that. Armsmaster had been desperate for recognition, more concerned with credit than justice. Batman didn’t strike her as the type to care about public image. But the feeling was still there—that cold, methodical dismantling of opponents, taking away any chance of fighting back.

And Taylor had no idea how he’d react if he realized she was here.

One by one, the enforcers fell until only a single man remained—one of the lieutenants, judging by the way he was dressed. He stumbled back, shaking his head.

Batman moved before Taylor could track him—one moment standing over a downed enforcer, the next a blur of motion. A grapple line hissed through the air, snagging the fleeing man’s ankle and yanking him off his feet. He crashed down with a thud, groaning.

Batman landed beside him, towering. The lenses of his cowl glinted in the dim light.

“You were moving weapons,” he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight, like it didn’t need to be loud to be threatening.

The enforcer coughed, still stunned. “Piss off, man—”

A boot pressed lightly against his chest, not quite applying pressure yet. “Who’s your supplier?”

The man hesitated.

Taylor tensed. She had that answer.

She knew the Calculator was the one arming Penguin’s men. She had proof—scattered reports, witness statements, the malfunctioning tech she’d recovered. Batman could use that.

But stepping forward, revealing herself, meant putting herself on his radar.

And she wasn’t ready for that.

Because this was Gotham. This was his city.

And if she went to him, she wouldn’t be an ally. She’d be another unknown factor. Another masked vigilante operating in his territory, with no credentials, no reason for him to trust her. He might see her as an asset. He might see her as a problem.

She’d been burned before. 

Armsmaster had positioned himself as an authority she could work with, someone who might recognize her potential—only to turn around and use her for his own gain. The PRT had dangled the illusion of legitimacy in front of her, only to turn on her the second she wasn’t convenient anymore.

Even the heroes who meant well—Miss Militia, Triumph—had their hands tied by the system.

If she went to Batman with nothing but words, she was giving him the power to decide what happened next. 

And Taylor had never done well with giving away control.

Below, the enforcer cracked. “Alright, alright—shit—look, I don’t know his name! We just call him the Calculator. He sets up the drops, the deals—half the stuff we get, we don’t even know where it comes from, just that it works!”

Batman held his gaze for a long moment, then stepped back. “Where’s the next drop?”

Taylor clenched her fists.

She could fill in the gaps. She should fill in the gaps.

But she stayed silent.

Then Batman leaned in. “Tell Cobblepot his time is running out.”

The enforcer stayed crumpled on the ground for a moment, breathing heavily, before finally dragging himself to his feet and stumbling away.

Batman turned, his cape sweeping behind him. He scanned the area, gaze flicking across the warehouse floor. Then—

He looked up.

Right at her.

Taylor’s breath caught in her throat.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Batman fired his grapple, vanishing into the night like he’d never been there at all. 

Taylor let out a slow, shaky breath.

He hadn’t pursued her. Hadn’t called her out. 

But he had seen her.

And she had the sinking feeling that this wouldn’t be their last encounter.