Walking into her own private bedroom and finding a vigilante waiting for her should not have been normal. But for Svetlana, Robin had become a fixture in her life. A strange, unexpected thing, yet something she now accepted.

"Evening," she greeted him quietly as she entered.

"It's half one in the morning,"

"Aww, you worry for me." Svetlana teased lightly, pulling off her jumper as she walked toward her mirror. She prodded a purple-blue bruise that rested on the side of her ribs, a reminder of her usual scuffles. Little silver lines and fresh scars also marked her skin. She didn't mind them—they were her story, part of who she was—until she realized she was exposed to a boy who knew nothing about the violence she had endured to get to this point.

Damian's gaze flickered to the marks on her skin for a moment before he quickly looked away. She was standing in only a bra and shorts, and he instinctively lowered his eyes to the floor, feeling a sudden wave of awkwardness.

Svetlana grabbed a fresh top from her drawers, quickly pulling it on before grabbing her science textbook. She sat down next to him on the bed, her body already back to its usual easygoing posture.

"And I don't worry about you," he said, not even glancing at her as she opened her textbook. Damian couldn't watch her, his mind distracted. She had an odd way of making him feel both at ease and on edge at the same time.

Svetlana scoffed lightly, wrapping her hand around his wrist as she nudged him. "So it's true."

Damian blinked in confusion. "What?"

She gestured toward the textbook in her hands, then looked up at him, her eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "This one looks exactly like yours, doesn't it?"

Damian glanced at the textbook in her hands. It was practically identical to the one he had on his desk at home, except hers was in Russian. The words on the pages were completely foreign to him.

He furrowed his brows, squinting at the text. "Why's it in Russian?"

Svetlana, without even looking up, placed her head on his arm with a relaxed sigh. "Я русский, тупой мальчик," she muttered, rubbing her tired eyes with one hand.

Damian didn't understand a word of it, but he felt incredibly stupid nonetheless. He had already figured out parts of her background, like the accent, but he hadn't fully grasped the depth of it. She often slipped into Russian when she was tired or distracted, and at school, he had seen her do it when the pressure was on, like when she was trying to juggle all her thoughts at once. It made sense now.

Svetlana spoke multiple languages fluently—eleven in total, or so she had mentioned. It wasn't easy, she had explained to him once, to keep them all straight. Sometimes, when she was excited or passionate, the words just came out in her first language. She didn't mean to, but it was difficult to switch on and off.

Damian had heard from others at school that she often got in trouble for speaking Russian in class. Teachers and students alike had accused her of mocking them, which only seemed to make her retreat even further. It was no surprise to him that she often seemed uncomfortable when anyone brought it up.

But right now, she wasn't bothered by it. She was comfortable, resting her head on his arm, letting the hours pass by while she read. Science was one of her strengths—her reasoning was sharp, and she excelled in it. The problem, though, lay in the formulas. The numbers, the divisions, the multiplications—maths always confused her, no matter how hard she tried. It was the one subject that never clicked.

Damian glanced down at the book, still struggling to decipher the Russian words. He had never learned the language, despite the fact that Jason spoke it fluently. In fact, Jason was better with languages—Arabic and Russian, specifically—but Damian often wondered if knowing Russian himself might have been an advantage. Especially now, with everything going on in Gotham.

Damian had also been tracking the recent rise of Russian gangs in the city. His thoughts briefly flickered back to what he had heard about Svetlana's ex-boyfriend. He had accused her of being involved with one of those gangs, which had led to a heated confrontation. Svetlana had more than held her own, winning the fight even though she was bruised and cut. The situation hadn't been ideal, but it was clear she wasn't someone who would back down.

"Have you heard about the Russian gang?" Damian asked suddenly, his voice quiet but serious.

Svetlana tensed at the question. She immediately pulled away from him, snapping the textbook closed. "What?" she asked, her voice sharp.

Damian instantly regretted the words. He hadn't meant for them to come out like that. He had just wanted to ask, but instead, he'd unintentionally opened a door he wasn't ready to go through.

"Have you heard about the Russian gang?" he repeated, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him.

Svetlana blinked at him, her face hardening. "Why? You think I'm part of it or something?" Her Russian accent had become more pronounced, her words laced with suspicion.

Damian immediately saw how he had messed up. Stupid. Stupid girl with stupid pretty looks, and soft skin that made it impossible for him to think clearly. He rubbed his face, trying to regain control. "No, that's not what I'm saying," he clarified quickly, his tone as stern as he could manage. "I was just wondering if anyone had made accusations like that."

Svetlana looked at him for a moment before shrugging, though her gaze softened. She scratched her upper arm, a small gesture of discomfort. "Sorry," she muttered, her voice quieter now. "I just... you know, it's been a weird few months."

Damian didn't answer right away, still processing what had just transpired. The weight of the situation hung heavily between them, but for once, it wasn't his fault. She had snapped, but there was something in her expression that made him believe it wasn't entirely aimed at him. It was her own baggage she was dealing with, and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The silence settled for a moment, and Svetlana opened her textbook again, scanning the pages as though nothing had happened. But they both knew better.