INT. GOTHAM CAFÉ - LATE FRIDAY MORNING
The bell above the café door jingles softly as rain spatters the windowpanes. Gotham's gray skyline looms beyond the foggy glass, casting long shadows through the cozy shop.
Dick Grayson sits at a window table, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. His dark civilian jacket is crisp, collar turned up just enough to hide the tension in his jaw. Across from him, Pauline sips espresso like it's his fifth one of the morning, eyes scanning the room beneath a pair of thick black sunglasses.
"She's late," Pauline mutters, glancing at his watch.
"Or we're early," Dick replies coolly, keeping one eye on the sidewalk through the fogged glass.
The café is quiet - just a handful of students, an older couple, a barista playing something low and jazzy through the speakers. The perfect setting for calm before chaos.
Then-
The soft hum of wheelchair wheels over tile.
The door opens.
Dick's heart skips a beat.
Barbara Gordon enters the café.
She's wearing a maroon sweater under a black coat, damp from the rain, her auburn hair tied back loosely. She wheels herself smoothly toward the counter, unaware. Completely unaware.
Dick's fingers tighten around his coffee cup.
"Something wrong?" Pauline asks.
Dick doesn't answer immediately-too busy trying to pull his heart out of his throat.
Barbara.
Of all the places, all the cafés in Gotham... she had to walk-roll-into this one.
"Nothing," Dick says too quickly. "Just thought I saw someone I knew."
Pauline shrugs, uninterested, already shifting focus back to the front door. But Dick's eyes are locked on her-on Barbara.
She's placing her order.
Smiling politely.
Looking around absently.
A pang of guilt pierces through his ribs like a blade.
He hadn't seen her in weeks-heard her voice only in coded burner messages. She had no idea he was in Gotham. No idea he was feet away, hunting a mark, wrapped in lies.
And now fate had decided to drop her into the middle of a Court of Owls operation.
"Stay focused," Pauline says, low and sharp. "Tracy walks in, we grab her. Clean. Quick."
But Dick barely hears him.
Because Barbara is turning around.
And her eyes are sweeping the café.
And in one second-
She might see him.
Dick keeps his head down, eyes glued to the swirl of untouched coffee in his cup, his body tense like a coiled spring.
Barbara lingers near the counter, chatting briefly with the barista. Every second she stays feels like an eternity. Every time her voice lifts in laughter, a part of him aches.
But he doesn't move.
Doesn't risk it.
Can't.
If she sees him-if she knows-everything falls apart. Her safety, the mission, the months of work buried in lies and blood.
He stares out the window instead, his reflection barely visible through the rainy haze. Just another face in the city.
Behind his sunglasses, Pauline is watching him carefully.
He saw it.
The shift in Dick's posture.
The way his fingers trembled ever so slightly around the handle of the mug when the red-haired woman rolled in.
He files it away.
Doesn't speak.
Doesn't smirk.
But he knows.
Barbara grabs her drink, thanks the barista, and with a gentle spin of her wheels, she glides out of the café.
Dick doesn't breathe until the bell above the door rings again-signaling her exit.
---
Seconds later-
The café door opens again.
This time, it's her.
Tracy Fornero.
Mid-30s. Platinum-dyed hair under a green beanie. Leather jacket. Confident gait. The Penguin's trusted second-in-command and known ice-veined killer.
She doesn't order anything.
Doesn't sit.
Just scans the place like someone expecting trouble but too arrogant to believe it'll actually come.
"Target acquired," Pauline mutters behind his coffee cup. "Time to go."
Dick stands slowly.
Their movements are fluid. Unthreatening.
Two guys leaving a café.
Nothing more.
They follow Tracy as she walks past the barista and toward the back hallway-likely headed to the private booth Penguin's people sometimes rent out.
Wrong move.
She rounds the corner-and walks straight into Pauline's elbow, fast and brutal, into her sternum.
She grunts, breath knocked clean from her lungs.
Dick steps behind her like a shadow, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back before she can even draw the knife strapped to her thigh.
"Shh," he murmurs, "not here."
"You idiots," she snarls, kicking against them as they guide her toward the back exit. "You know who I work for-he's gonna skin you-"
"We're counting on it," Pauline grins.
They shove open the fire exit into the alley behind the café, the rain pelting down in sheets.
A black sedan waits.
Tracy tries to twist free, but Dick tightens his grip and nods to Pauline, who opens the trunk.
"Sorry about the accommodations," Dick says grimly, "but you'll be riding in the back."
"Screw y-"
Pauline jabs her with a tranquilizer dart from his coat pocket.
Her words slur, her eyes flutter.
Then darkness.
They load her in, shut the trunk.
Pauline moves to the driver's side.
Dick glances down the alley one last time. His eyes follow the slick rain as it disappears into the storm drains.
Barbara was here.
And she didn't know.
But Pauline did.
He just hadn't decided what to do with that knowledge yet.
Tracy awakens to the cold bite of steel restraints and the oppressive silence of the Court's hidden lair. A single, flickering lamp overhead casts long shadows across the stone walls. She's tied to a reinforced chair, her lip bloodied from her earlier resistance.
Across from her stands the Grandmaster, flanked by Frank and Evelyn, who watches with that unsettling calm she always wears. Dick leans against the far wall in silence, the mask of loyalty still firmly in place.
The Grandmaster steps forward, voice smooth but absolute:
"Miss Fornero. You've had a most... inconvenient few hours. But I assure you, we have no interest in unnecessary violence."
Tracy glares up at him, spitting blood to the side.
"You kidnapped the wrong person if you think I'm scared."
"Oh, I don't expect fear," the Grandmaster replies with a small smile. "I expect you to deliver a message."
He gestures, and Frank steps forward with a note sealed in black wax bearing the Court's sigil - the owl.
"We propose a truce," the Grandmaster continues. "A meeting. A path to resolution. The Penguin will find the details here - time, place, terms."
He leans in slightly.
"You are to deliver this. Personally. And tell your boss that the Court of Owls is offering peace... for now."
Tracy narrows her eyes. "And if he says no?"
"Then Gotham will host a bloodbath," Evelyn replies flatly, eyes locked on hers. "And you'll be the first course."
The Grandmaster turns to Dick.
"Grayson. You'll escort Miss Fornero to her drop point. Make sure she's alert. Unharmed. And most importantly - convincing."
Dick gives a respectful nod, suppressing every instinct that tells him this is wrong.
---
INT. COURT GARAGE - NIGHT
The rain has eased to a cold drizzle. The city beyond the tunnels waits like a restless animal.
Dick loads Tracy, now free from her bindings, into the passenger seat of an unmarked black sedan. She rubs her wrists, glancing sideways at him.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she says, still watching him. "I know you. I've seen you before. You're not one of them."
Dick doesn't answer. He keeps driving.
"They're going to kill him, you know," she adds after a beat. "The Penguin. You send this message, you're signing his death warrant. And probably mine."
Still nothing from Dick.
"You really with them?" Tracy presses, tone softer now. "Because if you are... you'll be dead before you even know it. No one climbs out once you're in too deep."
He finally glances at her, the flicker of something behind his eyes.
"Just deliver the message."
---
EXT. PENGUIN SAFEHOUSE - GOTHAM - NIGHT
Dick pulls into a dark alley, headlights cutting through the mist. Tracy steps out slowly, black envelope in hand. Two of Penguin's guards round the corner with raised weapons - until they see her.
"Tracy?! What the hell-?"
"Tell Oswald I have a message," she says, holding up the letter. "From the Court."
The guards glance at each other.
One of them takes the letter carefully.
Tracy looks back at Dick. For a split second, something like reluctant respect passes between them.
"You don't strike me as a lifer," she says. "But maybe I'm wrong."
She turns and walks into the mist, vanishing behind the guards.
Dick watches her disappear, the weight of the moment pressing in.
His hands tighten on the wheel.
He's not sure who he's pretending for anymore.
The Court.
The Penguin.
Or himself.
EXT. ROOFTOPS - ABOVE THE FAKE TRUCE SITE - NIGHT
Rain trickles off the gargoyle's stone jaw as Batman emerges from the shadows, cape sweeping behind him. Dick is already there, crouched near the edge of the rooftop, binoculars in hand, scanning the abandoned warehouse where the Court-Penguin "truce" is to be held.
Below, the warehouse sits in eerie stillness - the perfect place for a massacre.
Batman's voice cuts through the silence.
"They'll never honor a truce."
Dick doesn't look at him.
"I know. That's why I called you."
He stands, turning to face Bruce.
"I need the family positioned on surrounding rooftops. Spoiler, Batwoman, Red Hood, Red Robin, even Robin. Eyes on every exit. If this goes south, we keep Penguin alive... and take out the strike team."
"And your cover?" Bruce asks, arms folded.
Dick takes a breath. "You let me maintain it. No matter what you see down there. If they think I'm playing both sides, I'm dead. Barbara's dead. And the Court disappears into the wind."
Bruce hesitates - that silent paternal storm churning beneath the cowl. But he gives a sharp nod.
"Done."
A beat.
Then Dick steps closer, lowering his voice.
"There's something else."
Batman tilts his head slightly.
"The Grandmaster has a daughter. Evelyn. She's smart, dangerous, ambitious... and she's got plans to take over the Court. She's already looking for allies - and for leverage. Last night, she practically offered me a throne."
"And?"
"I said no. But she's going to keep testing me."
He narrows his eyes.
"Evelyn's not a common name. I need you to cross-reference Court-linked families, elites, donors, secret societies - anyone with a daughter named Evelyn between the ages of twenty and thirty."
Batman's eyes narrow beneath the cowl.
"You think she's a legacy?"
"I think she's more than the Grandmaster's daughter," Dick says grimly. "I think she's the future of the Court... if we don't stop her."
Batman pulls out a communicator and taps into the Batcomputer remotely.
"I'll have Alfred start digging immediately."
"Make sure Barbara doesn't find out yet," Dick adds quickly. "If she knows I danced with Evelyn, she'll find a way to kill me before the Court does."
Batman - despite everything - allows himself the faintest smirk.
"Then stay alive long enough for her to try."
The two vigilantes glance down at the warehouse again.
Because soon, the Court would strike.
And Dick Grayson would have to keep pretending he belonged to them... while Gotham's fate teetered on the edge of a double-cross.
INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - TRUCE MEETING POINT - NIGHT
The stench of rust, oil, and old blood hangs in the air as the Court of Owls and Penguin's crew face off under flickering industrial lights.
Dick stands with Pauline, Frank, and two Talons near one side of the room, cold and unreadable in his owl mask and tailored black suit. On the other side, Oswald Cobblepot, flanked by his muscle - burly men in suits with submachine guns tucked under their coats.
Tension hums like a live wire.
Penguin steps forward, sneering.
"This smells like a setup, Grandmaster. You really expect me to believe you want peace?"
The Grandmaster, ever composed, offers a thin smile from his chair.
"Trust is built slowly, Cobblepot. We are giving you an opportunity - not a request."
Penguin laughs sharply.
"I don't do business with ghosts. Especially ones that murder mayors' sons and dress like history books."
Guns are drawn - Penguin's men first, then the Court's Talons. The room becomes a standoff. Everyone's shouting. Fingers twitch over triggers. Eyes darting, breath held.
Then-
CRASH!
The warehouse skylight explodes into shards of glass as the Batfamily drops in like lightning.
Red Hood lands first, twin pistols blazing non-lethal rubber rounds.
Batwoman follows, tackling a Talon to the ground.
Spoiler and Red Robin slide into cover, neutralizing Penguin's men with stun discs and grappling snares.
Damian cuts through with precise katana strikes, holding back just enough not to kill.
Chaos. Screams. Gunfire. Smoke.
Amid the fighting, Dick spins, takes down a Penguin thug with a strike to the jaw-then suddenly-
BANG!
He jerks back-a bullet tears through his side, just below the ribs.
He stumbles, pain flashing across his face.
"Shit-"
He ducks behind a support beam, blood staining his shirt. Batman, across the room locking fists with a Talon, sees it.
Their eyes meet for a split second.
He wants to run to him. Wants to call out his name.
But he doesn't.
He can't.
One word could blow the entire operation. One misstep, and Dick's cover is gone.
Instead, Batman pivots, downs his attacker, and shouts to the team:
"We're not here for the Court! Focus on Penguin's crew! Contain the scene!"
Dick takes the chance to slip away, clutching his side as he exits through a rusted side door into the rain-slicked alley. He barely makes it two blocks before collapsing behind a dumpster, breathing hard, pressing his hand to the wound.
Blood. Too much.
But his cover's intact.
That's all that matters.
---
INT. ROOFTOP - MOMENTS LATER
Batman perches above the warehouse now secured by the Batfamily. His comm crackles.
ALFRED (over comm): "Sir, Master Grayson's signal is moving... erratically. He's injured."
BATMAN: "Send a drone. Quietly. I'll find him. But not a word to the others."
He gazes into the shadows, jaw tight.
Somewhere out there, his son bleeds, alone - not as Nightwing, not as a hero - but as the thing he never wanted to become.
A Court weapon.
And the mission isn't over yet.
INT. BELFRY - NIGHT
The Belfry sits in silence - dimly lit by the glow of computer monitors and humming servers. Rain patters against the high windows, thunder rumbling above Gotham.
Suddenly-
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
ALERT: Perimeter Breach Detected.
A security panel flashes red. Sensors ping.
Barbara, still in her chair and half-asleep from hours at the monitors, jolts upright. Her hand goes instinctively to the taser mounted under the desk. She flicks the safety off.
"Someone just tripped the south access...?"
She wheels toward the hallway, heart pounding. The building should be empty. Quiet. Safe.
She grips the taser and moves carefully toward the corridor. The lights flicker.
Something shifts in the shadows.
A soft thump. A whisper of breath.
Movement.
Barbara doesn't hesitate.
ZAP!
The taser fires, the darts hitting the shadowed figure square in the chest.
The figure stumbles, groans-
-and collapses hard to the floor.
Barbara clicks the lights on-
-and freezes.
"No... no, no, no-"
It's Dick.
His shirt is soaked with blood, staining through his suit jacket and white dress shirt. His owl mask is gone, revealing a pale, sweat-soaked face twisted in pain.
The darts still stick from his torso, smoke rising faintly.
Barbara drops the taser with a clatter and rushes to his side.
"Dick?! Oh my God-DICK?!"
She pulls the darts free and presses her hand against his wound, trying to slow the bleeding. He's barely conscious, his eyes fluttering.
"What... what the hell happened to you? You're supposed to be in Eastern Europe!"
Dick groans faintly.
"Barbara... I didn't mean to set the alarm off..."
"Shut up," she says, eyes welling up with panic. "Don't talk. You're losing a lot of blood."
She grabs a med kit off the wall, tearing it open.
Her hands are shaking.
"Why are you here? Why didn't you call me? Why are you in a-suit?"
Dick barely manages a whisper.
"Didn't know... where else to go..."
He starts to slump. She catches him before he hits the floor again.
"Stay with me, Dick. I've got you. Just-stay with me."
---
INT. BELFRY - MEDICAL ROOM - LATER
Dick lies on the cot, his wound cleaned and wrapped. He's shirtless now, pale but stable. Barbara sits beside him, wiping blood from her hands.
She stares at his face.
So many questions.
So much she doesn't understand.
But one thing is clear-
He's hiding something.
And it nearly got him killed.
She looks down at his gloved hand resting on the blanket.
Gently, she laces her fingers with his.
"You don't get to lie to me anymore, Grayson."