CHAPTER ONE - A FRESH START

Taylor adjusted the strap of her messenger bag as she pushed open the door to the small print shop on Gotham’s east side. The bell above the door jingled, announcing her arrival to an otherwise empty space. Inside, the smell of ink and paper lingered heavily, familiar and strangely comforting.

The shop wasn’t much—a cramped, unassuming place nestled between a pawn shop and a boarded-up laundromat—but it was functional. Its main draw was that it paid in cash and didn’t ask too many questions, qualities Taylor had learned to appreciate since arriving in Gotham.

“Morning, Taylor.”

Evan, her boss, leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand. He was a wiry man in his early forties, with ink-stained fingers and a perpetual five o’clock shadow. He nodded toward the back of the shop, where the hum of a printer broke the quiet.

“Morning,” Taylor replied, dropping her bag behind the counter and tying her hair back into a loose ponytail. She pulled on the dark green apron hanging from a hook, already accustomed to the routine.

“You’re late,” Evan said, though there was no malice in his tone.

Taylor glanced at the clock. “By three minutes.”

“Three minutes is three minutes,” he replied, smirking. “Don’t let it become a habit, kid.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother arguing, instead loading a fresh stack of paper into one of the machines. Evan was harmless, and his half-hearted lectures were as much a part of the routine as the printers themselves.

The work wasn’t glamorous—mostly running copies, assembling orders, and occasionally handling the counter—but it was steady, and it kept her under the radar. Most of the customers were small business owners or students, people who needed flyers, posters, or reports printed on the cheap. 

“Taylor!” Evan’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He was holding up a stapler, gesturing toward a stack of flyers on the counter.

“These need to be finished before lunch,” he said. “You good with that?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” she said, moving over to the counter and grabbing the stack.

As she worked, she let her thoughts settle into the background, focusing on the repetitive motion of stapling and sorting. There was something oddly meditative about the task, a rare moment of quiet in an otherwise chaotic life.

The door jingled again, and Taylor glanced up to see a middle-aged woman walk in, clutching a thick envelope. She hesitated for a moment before approaching the counter.

“Hi,” the woman said, her voice soft. “I need some copies made. Is that something you can help with?”

“Of course,” Taylor said, slipping into her customer service voice. “What do you need?”

As the woman explained her order, Taylor couldn’t help but notice the faint tremor in her hands, the way her eyes darted toward the door every few seconds. Gotham had that effect on people.

By the time the woman left, her envelope tucked under her arm, Taylor found herself wondering about her story. Why she seemed so nervous. Whether Gotham had already gotten its claws into her, or if she was still holding onto some scrap of hope.

“You good?” Evan asked from the back, noticing her pause.

Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Well, don’t think too hard. It’s bad for business,” he said, chuckling to himself as he disappeared into the storage room.

Taylor shook her head and returned to her work, her thoughts lingering on the woman’s nervous expression. For all the city’s darkness, it was the little moments of humanity like that—fragile, fleeting—that reminded her why she kept going.

By the time her shift ended, the rain had started up again, a steady drizzle that soaked into her hood as she stepped outside. She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets and started walking, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

The streets were quieter now, the sound of car tires on wet asphalt blending with the distant murmur of voices. Taylor kept her head down, blending into the flow of people as she made her way home. The day had been uneventful—a small blessing in a city like Gotham.

. . . . .

Taylor adjusted her jacket as she stepped through the heavy doors of the Gotham Public Library. The warmth of the building washed over her, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The scent of old books and faint cleaning solution filled the air, and the low hum of activity—shuffling papers, murmured conversations, the occasional creak of a chair—made the space feel alive in a way that was strangely comforting.

She’d been here a handful of times in the past month, usually in the late hours when the library was at its quietest. Today was no different. It wasn’t just a place to get information—it was a sanctuary, a place where she could disappear for a while, blending into the background. Gotham had plenty of shadows, but sometimes she needed more than that. A place where she could think, plan, and breathe.

Taylor made her way to one of the public computers. Her finances were limited, so paying for internet access wasn’t exactly a luxury she could afford right now. Instead, the library offered her a free connection and a chance to dig deeper into Gotham’s tangled web of crime, corruption, and chaos.

Sliding into a chair, she logged in with one of the generic guest accounts, then paused. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she considered her next move. Researching Gotham’s criminal underworld was like stepping into quicksand—too much attention, too many wrong clicks, and she might draw the wrong kind of eyes. And in Gotham, the wrong eyes could mean anything from petty thugs to the Bat himself.

She started small. Names she’d heard in passing while patrolling the streets. Venues that seemed to draw the wrong sort of crowd. Articles about recent incidents that had gone unexplained. The city’s chaos was layered, every thread she pulled revealing a dozen more knotted beneath it.

As the search results loaded, she leaned back in her chair. The flickering screen reflected in her glasses as she scanned the headlines. Most were sensationalist pieces—tabloid-level coverage of petty crimes and costumed vigilantes—but a few caught her attention. Mentions of Black Mask’s recent movements. Rumors about a power vacuum in the Narrows. A strange uptick in reports of missing persons in specific neighborhoods.

Her hand moved almost automatically to jot down notes in the small notebook she carried. Even with her spotty control over insects, her instincts hadn’t dulled. These patterns weren’t random. Something was happening here, beneath the surface, and if she could piece together enough of the puzzle, she might figure out where to step in.

Half an hour later, her focus was interrupted by a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Someone had stepped into the computer lab—a young man, maybe a few years younger than her, with a stack of books balanced precariously in one hand and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He looked at her for a moment longer than most people would have, his gaze curious but not unkind.

Taylor lowered her head slightly, letting her hair fall forward to obscure her face. She didn’t want to be noticed. Not here, not anywhere.

The boy moved on, taking a seat a few rows away. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, her paranoia flickering to life. He didn’t seem like a threat, but in a city like Gotham, anyone could be hiding something. She reminded herself to focus and turned back to the screen.

Another headline caught her attention. The fire downtown. No official statement yet, but rumors of arson were circulating. She frowned, the gears in her mind turning. Fires were common enough in Gotham, but this one had been near a neighborhood she’d been keeping tabs on—one of the areas where the disappearances had been reported.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up a map of the city. She marked the location of the fire, then cross-referenced it with the other incidents she’d noted. The pattern was faint but unmistakable. Someone was carving a path through the city, and she had a sinking feeling it wasn’t random.

Taylor closed the browser and logged out of the computer. She couldn’t afford to linger too long in one place. Slipping her notebook into her bag, she stood and made her way toward the exit. As she passed by the young man from earlier, she caught him glancing at her again. This time, she met his gaze for a split second before looking away.

Out on the street, the cold air hit her like a wall, but her mind was still on the incidents. Gotham was a puzzle, and she wasn’t going to stop until she figured out where she fit.