The st bodyguard crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, blood pooling beneath his shattered mask. The Red Hood stepped over the corpse, his breathing deep but controlled. Three floors of hired muscle, and for what? To protect one man sitting behind a door.

  He'd fought through waves of them—mercenaries, assassins, fanatics who threw themselves at him with religious fervor. Each one convinced they were dying for something greater than themselves. Each one wrong. Jason had put bullets in most of them. Unlike Bruce, he didn't have qualms about permanent solutions.

  The hallway stretched before him, marble floors stained with crimson, portraits of Gotham's elite watching him with painted eyes. At the end, massive oak doors waited. Behind them, answers. Behind them, the man pulling the strings.

  Jason kicked the doors open with violent satisfaction, splinters exploding inward as the wood gave way. His entrance was everything he'd pnned—dramatic, intimidating, the moment where the vilin would finally face justice. Or at least face him.

  The Court of Owls member didn't even look up.

  The man sat calmly at a mahogany table, crystal tumbler in hand, amber liquid catching the mplight. He was older, distinguished, wearing an expensive suit that probably cost more than most people made in a year. No mask. No theatrics. Just a man having a drink.

  "You killed a lot of good people getting here," the man said conversationally, taking a slow sip. His voice carried the cultured accent of old Gotham money.

  Jason felt his jaw clench. "Good people don't work for monsters." The words came out rougher than he intended, filtered through the voice modutor in his helmet.

  "Fathers. Husbands. Men with families who needed the money." The Court member finally looked up, his eyes calm, almost amused. "But I suppose that makes it easier for you, doesn't it? Thinking of them as monsters instead of people doing what they had to do."

  Something about the man's tone grated against Jason's nerves. Too calm. Too knowing. "Don't lecture me about—"

  "Please, sit." The man gestured to a chair across from him. "You've come all this way. Fought so hard to get here. The least I can do is offer you a drink."

  Jason's hand moved instinctively toward one of his guns. "I'm not here for conversation."

  "No? Then what are you here for? Justice?" The word dripped with gentle mockery. "Vengeance? To feel better about yourself?"

  The casual dismissal of everything Jason had just fought through made his blood simmer. Despite himself, he found his feet carrying him forward. This bastard's complete ck of fear, his casual dismissal of everything that had just happened, was unsettling in a way Jason couldn't quite name.

  "I'm here to stop you. To expose what you've done to this city."

  "Ah." The Court member nodded as if this made perfect sense. He gestured again to the empty chair. "Sit. Please. This conversation will be much more productive if we're both comfortable."

  Jason remained standing, but he didn't draw his weapon. Not yet. Something about this felt wrong. Off. "You're not afraid of me."

  "Should I be?" The man took another sip, and Jason caught the slight smile pying at the corners of his mouth. "You've already won, haven't you? You've fought through my defenses, discovered my location, cornered me in my own home. What else could you want?"

  The question sat wrong in Jason's gut. He'd expected panic, threats, desperate bargaining. Not this... whatever this was. "Answers. The truth about what the Court of Owls has been doing to Gotham."

  "The truth." The man smiled, and it wasn't cruel or mocking—it was almost sad. "Very well. The truth is simple: we run this city because someone has to. We make the hard decisions so others don't have to. We maintain order in a chaotic world."

  Jason felt anger fre in his chest. "By controlling people. By murder and manipution."

  "By giving people what they actually want." The Court member leaned forward slightly, and Jason caught something predatory in his gaze. "Tell me, Jason—do you really think the people of Gotham want to make their own decisions? Do you think they want the responsibility that comes with true freedom?"

  The use of his real name made Jason's hand twitch toward his gun again. How the hell did this guy—

  "Of course they do. Everyone wants to be free."

  "Do they?" The man's voice remained gentle, patient, like he was expining something to a child. "When crime was running rampant, who did they cry out for? The police. The government. Batman. Someone, anyone, to make it stop. When the economy crashed, who did they beg to save them? When disaster struck, who did they expect to rebuild their lives?"

  Jason felt something cold settle in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. He'd heard this kind of justification before from every two-bit crime boss who thought he was doing Gotham a favor. "That's different. That's not the same as—"

  "It's exactly the same." The Court member stood slowly, walking to a window that overlooked the city. "Human beings don't want freedom. They want security. They want someone else to make the difficult choices so they can sleep soundly at night. They want to believe they're good people while someone else handles the necessary evils."

  "You're wrong."

  "Am I?" The man turned back to him, and his expression was almost pitying. "Think about it. Really think. When you save someone from a mugging, do they ask you what policies might prevent future crime? Do they volunteer to patrol the streets themselves? Or do they say 'thank you' and go home, expecting you to keep doing it for them?"

  Jason opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Because he could think of dozens of times when that was exactly what had happened. People grateful for the help but unwilling to do anything themselves to change the system that had put them in danger in the first pce.

  "When politicians promise them safety in exchange for a ck of privacy, what do they choose? When corporations offer convenience in exchange for freedom, what do they choose? When we offer them stability in exchange for control..." The man spread his hands. "What do they choose?"

  "They don't know they have a choice. You manipute them, control information—"

  "We give them exactly what they want to hear." The Court member returned to his chair, and Jason noticed he was refilling his gss from a crystal decanter. "We tell them they're good people. We tell them their problems are someone else's fault. We tell them that if they just follow the rules, everything will work out. And they believe us because they want to believe us."

  Jason found himself sinking into the offered chair without realizing it, his helmet feeling suddenly heavy on his head. "But that's... that's not how people should live."

  "Should." The man smiled again, and Jason wanted to punch him for how reasonable he sounded. "There's that word. According to whom? You? Me? Some abstract moral philosophy?" He leaned back, completely rexed. "The truth is simpler and uglier than that. Most people are selfish. They care about themselves and those close to them, and everyone else is expendable as long as they don't have to see it happen."

  "That's not true."

  "Isn't it?" The Court member took a slow sip, and Jason found himself staring at the amber liquid, wondering what it would taste like. When was the st time he'd had a drink that wasn't cheap beer or whatever he could grab from a corner store? "How many people walked past their fellow human when they were bleeding in an alley? How many saw injustice and chose to look away rather than get involved? How many voted for politicians they knew were corrupt because those politicians promised to protect their interests?"

  Jason's throat felt dry. He thought about all the crime scenes he'd worked, all the witnesses who cimed they'd seen nothing, heard nothing. All the victims who'd begged him to save them but never once asked how they could help save others. All the times he'd bled for people who went back to their comfortable lives the moment the danger passed.

  "Come on, have a drink," the Court member said, gesturing to the tray of crystal gsses. His voice was warm now, almost fatherly. "I promise you'll find this conversation... illuminating."

  Jason reached up and pulled off his helmet, setting it on the table between them. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and he could feel the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. "I'll listen," he said slowly, "but I'm not changing my mind about what you are."

  "Understandable." The man smiled and snapped his fingers. "Sarah, would you get our guest a drink?"

  Jason's eyes swept the room, looking for servants, bodyguards, anyone else who might— A woman emerged gracefully from beneath the table, smoothing down her hair with one hand while wiping the back of her mouth with the other. She was elegant, beautiful, completely naked and utterly unbothered by his presence.

  Jason's world stopped.

  "Hello, Jay," she said casually, walking to the bar as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just been—

  "Sarah?" His voice came out as barely a whisper. His sister. His sister who he'd been searching for. His sister who'd gone missing eight months ago. "What... what are you doing here?"

  She poured amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, her movements unhurried and precise. Jason noticed her hands were steady, confident. Not the hands of someone being held against their will. "Getting what I need," she said simply, handing him the drink. "What I want. What I deserve."

  Jason stared at the gss in his hands, then up at his sister's face. She looked... happy. Healthy. Well-fed and well-cared for in a way she hadn't been in years. "But you're... he's..." His eyes flicked to the Court member, who was watching this reunion with quiet satisfaction. "He's one of them. He's destroying the city. He's—"

  "He's giving me everything I could ever want," Sarah interrupted, settling into a chair beside the Court member. Still naked. Still completely at ease. "Security. Luxury. Power. The ability to live without fear or want."

  Jason felt something violent twist in his gut. "Sarah, they're criminals. They're murderers. They—"

  "They're honest." She leaned back, completely comfortable in her nudity, completely comfortable with what she'd just been doing. "Unlike the rest of the world that pretends to care about morality while stepping on each other to get ahead."

  The Court member reached over and casually pced his hand on Sarah's thigh. She didn't flinch, didn't move away. If anything, she leaned into the touch, and Jason felt bile rise in his throat.

  "Your sister understands what most people refuse to acknowledge," the man said calmly, his fingers tracing small circles on Sarah's skin. "That altruism is a luxury useful to the powerful. That everyone is ultimately looking out for themselves. She simply stopped pretending otherwise."

  Jason felt the gss slip from his numb fingers. It hit the floor and shattered, amber liquid spreading across expensive marble. "Sarah, please. This isn't you. You used to care about—"

  "About what? About justice? About helping people?" Sarah ughed, and there was no warmth in it. Jason had never heard her ugh like that before. "I tried that, Jay. I volunteered at shelters, donated to charity, tried to make a difference. And you know what I got for it? Nothing. Less than nothing. I got robbed by the very people I was trying to help."

  "That doesn't mean—"

  "It means exactly what it means." Her voice hardened, and Jason saw something in her eyes he'd never seen before. Something cold but real. "People are selfish. They take what they can get and they don't care who gets hurt in the process. The only difference between me and them is that I stopped being a victim."

  The Court member smiled, his hand moving slightly higher on Sarah's leg. Jason's vision went red for a moment, and his hand moved toward his gun before he caught himself. "Your sister came to us voluntarily, Jason. We didn't kidnap her, didn't force her, didn't manipute her. We simply... offered her a better life. And she was smart enough to take it."

  Jason stared at his sister—at this woman who looked like his sister but spoke like a stranger. "What about me? I've been looking for you, worried sick. I thought you were dead, or captured, or—"

  "Have you?" Sarah tilted her head, and Jason caught a glimpse of the sister he remembered in that gesture. But her words cut like knives. "Or have you been so busy pying viginte that you barely noticed I was gone? When's the st time you called me before I disappeared? When's the st time you asked how I was doing, what I needed, whether I was happy?"

  The questions hit like physical blows because Jason couldn't answer them. He'd been so focused on his war against crime, on proving himself, on being better than Bruce's methods that he'd...

  "That's what I thought." Sarah's smile was sad but not surprised. "You care about people, Jay, but only in the abstract. You'll risk your life for strangers but you couldn't be bothered to have dinner with your own sister."

  "That's not... I was trying to make the world better. For everyone. Including you."

  "No," the Court member said gently, and Jason wanted to put a bullet through his skull for how understanding he sounded. "You were trying to make yourself feel better. You were trying to be the hero of your own story. And your sister—along with everyone else you cim to care about—was just a supporting character."

  Sarah stood and walked to the window, looking out over the city lights. Jason couldn't stop staring at her naked form, at how comfortable she was, how at home. "He knows your real name, Jay. Jason Peter Todd. Has known for months. He knows where you live, where you work, who you care about. He could have had you killed anytime he wanted."

  Jason's blood went cold. "Then why—"

  "Because killing you would have been pointless," the Court member expined, pouring himself another drink. "You're not actually a threat to us. You're... entertainment. A way to keep the masses believing that someone is fighting for them while we continue to shape the world according to our vision."

  "But more than that," Sarah continued, turning back to face him, and Jason saw something like pity in her eyes, "you're proof of everything we've been saying. You put on that helmet and fight crime because it makes you feel important, feel needed. But when it comes to actually caring for the people in your life—your family, your friends—you're just as selfish as everyone else."

  Jason felt something breaking inside his chest, something fundamental cracking apart. "Sarah, please. That's not true. I can—"

  "Can what? Go back to pretending the world is something it's not?" She shook her head, and Jason saw tears in her eyes for the first time since she'd appeared. But they weren't tears of sadness—they were tears of what looked like relief. "I'm happy here, Jay. Happier than I've ever been. I have everything I want and I don't have to lie to myself about why I have it."

  The Court member stood and walked to Jason, pcing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. Jason wanted to shrug it off, wanted to break the man's arm, but he felt paralyzed. "The beautiful truth about humanity is that we all want the same things—power, security, pleasure, control. The only question is whether we're honest about it or whether we dress it up in noble rhetoric."

  "Your sister chose honesty. She chose to stop being a victim of her own idealism." He squeezed Jason's shoulder gently. "The question now is: what will you do?"

  Jason looked at his sister, naked and unashamed, completely at peace with her choices. He looked at the Court member, calm and confident and utterly certain of his worldview. He thought about all the people he'd saved who went back to their lives without a second thought. All the criminals who'd told him he was just like them, just better at lying to himself about it.

  "How many of those people you risk your life to save," the Court member asked quietly, "would throw you under the bus for a chance to live like this? How many would betray everything you stand for if I offered them what I've given your sister?"

  Jason closed his eyes, but he could still see Sarah's face. Still see her wiping her mouth. Still see her complete ck of shame or regret. Still hear her ughing at his naive belief that people were worth saving.

  He thought about Bruce, who'd repced him with another Robin before his body was even cold. He thought about all the criminals he'd killed who'd probably had families, people who cared about them. He thought about every time he'd bled for Gotham and woken up alone.

  When Jason opened his eyes, the Court member was holding out a fresh gss of wine.

  "What do you say, Jason? Are you ready to stop pretending?"

  Jason stared at the offered drink, then at his sister's expectant face.

  He already knew what his answer was going to be.