Damian Wayne stood outside the fire escape, feeling a gnawing sense of guilt deep within him. He'd seen the flicker of hurt in Svetlana's eyes, not from the fight itself, but from the words he had thrown at her. Words that stung, even though they were meant to cut through the defenses she had built so carefully. He had known, somewhere deep down, that he was only making it worse.

But that wasn't all. Something about the way she had acted earlier that day — a little more distant, a little more withdrawn — gnawed at him. The girl who had once been shunned by her peers had opened up, trusted him, and in return, she'd been hurt. Once again. The wounds that had scarred her soul were reopening, and Damian couldn't help but feel responsible.

His body ached from the fight, bruises hidden under layers of makeup and clothes that he had carefully chosen to hide the damage. Svetlana wasn't the only one who was hiding. They both were, in their own ways. He stood there, staring up at the window where she was sitting, doing her homework. The TV was on in the background, Russian subtitles flashing across the screen.

Damian had never felt so conflicted before. Here he was, standing on the outside, watching her in silence as she remained in her own world. She had always been good at concealing her emotions, hiding behind that composed, seemingly perfect facade.

And yet, he saw past it. He saw the girl who was still broken inside. The girl who had lost so much and been forced to carry burdens she had no business bearing. Damian didn't want to feel guilty. He didn't want to care. But he did. It was inevitable.

She hadn't seen her parents yet, and from the way she was acting, he knew it was something she was avoiding. Her parents knew everything about her past, about the darkness that clung to her like a shadow. And if she showed them the bruises that were starting to creep up again, she'd be exposed for who she truly was. Or at least, the parts of her that she tried so desperately to bury.

A light tap on the window startled her. Svetlana looked up, her eyes narrowing when she saw Damian standing there. She raised an eyebrow, a brief moment of surprise flickering across her face. She stepped off the couch and walked toward the glass door, her movement slow and deliberate.

Svetlana's lips twisted into a forced smile as she tugged the curtains shut, blocking his view. It was clear that he wasn't welcome. But still, Damian stood there, uncertain of his next move. Why was he here? Why was he standing outside, hoping that she'd let him back in, even after everything that had happened?

The moment stretched on, and Damian's self-doubt began to creep in. His mother's words echoed in his mind. Talia al Ghul had always warned him not to form emotional connections. She had told him they made him weak, and now, standing here, Damian understood the truth behind her words.

By connecting with someone, even someone as seemingly insignificant as Svetlana, he had made himself vulnerable. He had let his guard down. He had let her in. And that made him weak.

Damian wasn't just angry at her anymore — he was angry at himself. He was angry that he couldn't shut off his emotions, that he couldn't separate what he felt from the mission he had to complete.

And so, he turned and walked away from the fire escape, his feet dragging as he left the girl behind, no longer sure of who he was or what he was doing anymore.

Svetlana didn't want to feel anything. She had felt too much already, and it only hurt more each time. She grabbed her boots and jacket, shutting the TV off in frustration. The homework, the constant reminders of her life — none of it mattered anymore. She didn't want to stay here, hidden away from the world. She had nothing left for anyone, not even herself.

She shouted up to her parents that she was going out, but deep down, she didn't care if they heard her or not. The cold Gotham air was all she needed now.

The city was unforgiving, always cold and dark. The streets were alive with people, some good, some bad, and others caught somewhere in between. Svetlana had never cared about the classification of it all — Gotham was what it was.

Gotham was a place for criminals, for vigilantes, and for people like her.

People like her... Raised to kill. Trained to serve. Used as tools by a ruthless organization, The Corporation, until she had escaped. She had run away from all of it. But she knew, deep down, that she was never truly free.

Her hands were stained with blood. Her heart, though she wished it were innocent, was far from it. She had been trained to kill, to take lives without hesitation. That darkness still lingered within her, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.

As she walked down the familiar alleys of Gotham, Svetlana felt the ever-present weight of her past bearing down on her. She was alert, watching every movement around her. It was instinct at this point, something ingrained into her being. And that instinct proved to be useful when she noticed the man following her.

At first, he did his best to remain unnoticed, his footsteps light and unassuming. But she could tell. She always could.

And then, as she neared the darker alleyway just before her home, the man made his move, shoving her roughly against the wall.

Svetlana didn't resist. She didn't need to. She knew exactly who this was. She had known this day would come. The Corporation had never truly let her go.

"Здравствуйте, Игорь, я ждал." Hello, Igor, I've been waiting.

"Светлана Орлова, какой прекрасный сюрприз." Svetlana Orlova, what a lovely surprise.

"Где ваши бойцы, Корпорация не отправляет одного из своих людей в одиночку." Where are your fighters? The Corporation doesn't send one of its people alone.

And as if on cue, Svetlana watched as several of The Corporation's female fighters dropped down behind Igor, surrounding her in a tight circle. They were all older than her, seasoned in their trade, but Svetlana was no stranger to fighting.

"Вечер, дамы!" Evening, ladies! she called out cheerfully, her voice belying the danger of the situation. With a quick movement, she slipped free of Igor's grip and slammed his head into the wall with ease.

The fight that followed was a blur. Svetlana was outnumbered, but she didn't care. She had been trained to kill since she was a child. This was nothing.

As the fight raged on, a figure dropped from above. Robin. Damian.

He had been watching from the shadows, and now, finally, he chose to intervene. But Svetlana didn't welcome the help. Not from him. Not after everything that had happened.

The two exchanged a brief glance, but there were no words. Instead, Svetlana turned and bolted, her feet carrying her through the dark alleys of Gotham once more.

Damian stood still for a moment, watching her run. He wanted to stop her, to talk to her, to apologize — but he knew better. She was already gone, slipping away into the night, and he had to let her go.

As he looked back at the beaten women lying on the cold ground, he couldn't shake the thought that kept nagging at him. These women, these people, were no different than him. They were fighting, just like he was. The lines between good and bad were blurred, and the truth was, no one in this city was innocent.