Julius POV
The bills were stacked up in front of me—rows and rows of them. $1.2 million, to be exact. It was both of my stashes combined, and with a wave of my hand, I slotted them into a single cursed inventory slot.
It was more money than I ever thought I'd see in my lifetime.
If you'd asked me a week ago, I wouldn't have had a clue what to do with it.
But now? I had a few ideas.
I reached for my burner and dialed a number I'd memorized years ago. It rang.
"Julius?" Candice's voice came through, thick with relief. There was a tiredness to it I didn't remember—more guarded, worn down.
"Yeah."
I heard her breath catch, like she'd been holding it this whole time.
"I've been calling for over a week. I thought—" She stopped herself. "I didn't know if you were…"
"I was off the grid," I said. "An opportunity came up."
"Artemis told me as much."
I blinked. "You called Artemis?"
"You left me no choice. What's a mother supposed to do?"
"She didn't mention that when we last—anyway, it was nice of her to help you out."
"She sounded worried," Candice added. "Some of it had to do with her situation, but… a lot of it was about you."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I haven't exactly been making the safest choices lately."
"You've always marched to the beat of your own drum," she sighed, and I winced.
"All I can ask is that you think more about the people who love you."
A long moment passed. I searched for something to say. Anything.
"I can't give you what you want," I whispered. My throat tightened as the words left me.
"I know," she murmured. "And as much as I appreciate the call… I get the feeling you didn't just phone to check in on me or Sasha."
I twisted my lips. "Partly. But also… I came into some money. A lot, actually. Enough to get you somewhere safe—far away from Gotham, away from the people who want to hurt you."
"You're not talking about Tim, are you?" she said slowly. "Sasha told me what happened. She said you broke his legs and made him disappear."
My breath hitched.
"She also told me what happened to Eddie…" Her voice cracked. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you wouldn't leave if I did."
"You're right," she said. "I wouldn't have."
Silence settled between us like a weight.
"I've also seen the news. The rooftop—"
"I was cornered," I cut in, voice automatic. "I made a desperate call."
"You say that like it was easy."
"It wasn't," I swallowed. "It still isn't."
"I know what you're doing, Julius," she said gently. "Black Mask… he killed him, didn't he? And now you're out for revenge. But this… this is suicide."
"Maybe," I admitted.
"Then why?"
"You know why." My voice was low. "The police won't do anything—not even if I handed them proof. Batman and his sidekick are better, sure, but they tried once and failed. Mask's bigger than ever now. He won't go down easy. And even if he does, he won't stay down for long."
I paused. "Somebody has to fight for Eddie."
She was quiet for a long time.
"I know better than to try and talk you out of this," she said, resigned. "You've always done what you thought was right. All I ask… is that you live. If not for me, then for him."
Her words cut deeper than I expected. I could count the number of times Candice had ever reached me like that. That made her request all the more real. All the more painful.
I licked my lips.
"I'll send the money soon. When it gets there, I need you to move fast. Pack light and go. Tell no one—not your friends, not the neighbors. No one."
"I'll be waiting for your call, then," she said softly.
"I love you," she whispered. It sounded like something she'd been holding onto for years.
"Tell Sasha I'm thinking of her," I said, cutting the call.
I stared at the phone for a second, then drifted back into the mattress behind me.
Robin's POV
Alfred dabbed gauze against my shoulder, and I flinched despite myself.
"Hold still, Master Richard."
"It hurts," I muttered through clenched teeth.
"Then perhaps you should take advice when it's given," Alfred replied mechanically, though there was the faintest trace of mirth in his voice.
The welts burned under the antiseptic. Dozens of them—tight, angry circles of red.
I groaned.
Julius didn't use live rounds, but the wooden bullets hurt worse than a bee sting.
Across the cave, Batman stood with his arms folded, cape brushing the floor. Silent. Watching.
Judging.
I swallowed.
Alfred finally stepped back with a sigh, setting the tray of supplies down. "I've done what I can. What you need now is time and rest. I hope you'll listen this time."
"Thanks," I grumbled, avoiding his eyes.
Bruce raised a shattered bullet fragment sealed in a transparent evidence bag—the one they pulled from my suit.
"This," Batman said, "is the reason I cautioned observation over action."
"He killed people, Bruce," I hissed.
"You knew about the robbery. You knew he used wooden rounds—bullets we've traced back to Ivy's black market. You knew he had combat experience. So tell me—why didn't you call for backup immediately?"
"There wasn't time," I said defensively.
"Wasn't there?" Bruce arched a brow. "I've seen the crime scene. Tracked him into the sewers where he fought Clayface—and won."
My eyes widened. "How?"
"He detonated a grenade and healed his wounds with his regenerative meta-abilities. It's more potent than we even theorized."
That's insane.
Bruce must've seen the shock on my face, because his tone sharpened.
"If there was a time to intervene, it was during Clayface's ambush. You could've established a relationship with him. Clayface might've even aborted the attack had he been alerted to your presence, allowing you to trace him back to his hideout. Instead, you provoked an attack and inadvertently gave up our identities to someone dangerous and unpredictable."
"I didn't know he could turn invisible!" I shot back, not even entertaining the possibility that he somehow hadn't heard me or couldn't deduce Bruce's and my real identities.
"That's not an excuse," Bruce said coldly. "You haven't slipped like this in years. Something about this made it personal."
My lips thinned. I wanted to argue, deny it—but he could read me like a book.
"I got careless," I admitted, throwing up my hands. "But I can fix it. I've been digging into his background. I think a softer approach might work with the right incentives. He grew up rough, Bruce. Worse than most. He's angry, lost. We could reach him—."
"No," Bruce said flatly.
The word hurt harder than the welts on my back.
"But if we worked together—"
"You're off the case," he cut in. "I'll handle Julius Spencer myself."
I muscled through the pain, rising to my feet. "I've been following him for weeks. This was supposed to be mine. Mistakes and all."
"Ordinarily, I would've allowed that," Bruce said. "But your mistake has complicated things. I can't afford a maybe."
My stomach dropped. "Bruce…"
He turned away, facing the Batcomputer.
"I'm starting to rethink your introduction to the League," he said. "Maybe you're not as ready as I thought."