Chapter 32: Huntress.
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(General P.O.V)
Detention at Gotham Academy wasn't like public school. No chalkboards with "I will not throw yogurt" written fifty times. No janitors glaring over mops. It was just an empty classroom, seven desks, and one very bored faculty monitor scrolling through her phone at the front.
Damian sat in the back, slouched in his chair with arms crossed. Cassandra sat beside him, arms folded tighter than his, glaring hard.
"You're the one who told me not to cause problems," she accused.
Damian tilted his head toward her, eyes half-lidded. "I changed my mind."
Helena, a row ahead and leaning back in her seat like she owned it, let out a short snort. "Damian Wayne. Staying out of trouble. That's rich."
He gave her a side-eye. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."
The three bullies from earlier were huddled at the front, clearly still traumatized from being humiliated. One of them winced every time Damian so much as stretched.
Cassandra leaned closer. "So why'd you change your mind?"
Damian didn't answer directly. Instead, he flashed her a grin and raised a hand.
"Miss," he said to the faculty monitor. "Bathroom."
The woman barely looked up. "Five minutes."
He nodded and stood, walking out with a slow pace until the door clicked shut behind him.
Then his steps quickened.
This wasn't about taking a leak.
Staying after school gave him the perfect opportunity to scout the administration wing—specifically, student records and archived files.
Most of the kids here came from Gotham's elite families. In other words, he was searching for connections to the Court of Owls.
He turned a corner, moving silently as always, his footfalls muffled against the tile.
Like a ghost he snuck into the dim faculty office. The surveillance system had been laughably outdated, and the hallway guard was too busy watching sports on his phone to notice the brief power loop Damian ran on the breaker.
Now, with a dim desk lamp casting long shadows, Damian crouched over an open filing cabinet. His fingers flipped through manila folders with focused precision.
Falcone. Elliot. Cobblepot. March.
All families with history in Gotham.
All with enough power or wealth to be connected to the Court of Owls.
But none of them felt right. None had that signature scent of secrecy that the Court reeked of. The kind that clung to the walls of ancient halls and blood-soaked rituals.
He moved to replace the file he'd just scanned when he stopped cold. A subtle shift in air pressure. A faint presence approaching. No footsteps. But someone was coming.
Damian immediately hoisted himself into the ceiling beams, disappearing into the shadows like vapor. He pressed his body flat against the rafters, controlling his breathing. Listening.
A figure slipped through the cracked doorway.
Clad in a sleek black-and-purple suit, small crossbow at her hip, hood pulled low, and boots that made no sound.
She moved with intent—precise, fast, experienced.
His first thought: a thief.
His second: a spy?
She headed straight for the student files Damian had just returned, scanning them rapidly until she paused on two names.
"Wayne... Cain..." she murmured aloud, her voice just a whisper.
And that was when Damian froze for a second time.
That voice. It was muffled by the costume but familiar.
And then it clicked.
Helena.
He nearly lost his balance from the shock.
When he returned to Gotham, Helena had changed from the quiet girl with the dark eyes and hesitant smile. The one he'd saved from bullies years ago at this very school. She used to flinch when someone raised their voice.
All that could be attributed to time.
But he hadn't expected this massive of a shift.
Confidence and self assurance aside, now she was dressed for war. In a Huntress outfit. The same Huntress Jason had casually mentioned in passing—a new vigilante making waves in Gotham.
Damian dropped down silently behind her.
"It's rude to go through someone's file without asking."
She spun immediately, crossbow halfway raised, but her reaction halted when she recognized him- he'd intentionally removed the Yautja helmet.
"Wayne," she said coolly.
He bit down on the urge to correct her and instead,
"You've grown," he observed, stepping into the light.
Helena lowered her weapon, studying him with calm but wary eyes.
"You broke in too," she said. "Can't judge me."
"I'm not judging," Damian replied. "I'm... reassessing."
She tilted her head.
"What? Expecting someone else?"
"Someone quieter," he said, lips twitching. "A girl I once stopped from crying when some idiots broke her school project."
Helena's brow twitched. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything," Damian said simply.
A few seconds passed in silence, neither moving.
Then his gaze dropped to the files she'd snapped photos of.
Damian frowned. "So why are you interested in me and Cassandra?"
Helena didn't answer.
Instead, she tilted her head and held up a finger for silence.
Both of them heard it—slow, lazy footsteps down the hallway. The security guard was making his rounds again, flashlight beam cutting through the hallway beyond the frosted glass.
"We should talk somewhere else. Tomorrow. Lunch." Helena whispered, already moving toward the window.
A charming Damian mock bowed. "After you milady."
They climbed out, slipping along the roof under the cover of dusk before dropping back inside through the second-floor corridor window, then casually walking toward their classroom. The whole detour had taken less than ten minutes.
Inside, Cassandra sat on top of a desk with her arms crossed, looking supremely unamused.
She clocked both of them instantly—especially the slight dust on Damian's shoulder and the tightness in his jaw.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Where were you?" she asked sharply, addressing Damian but eyeing Helena.
Helena gave a mock-innocent shrug and smirked. "What do you think a girl and a boy do when they're left alone in the dark?"
Cassandra's face darkened like a storm cloud. Her gaze cut to Damian—sharp, cold, accusing.
Damian looked between them and exhaled.
"…Seriously?"
But Cassandra was already turning her back on him with a flick of her hair and a silent promise that he'd regret… whatever she thought had happened.
Helena only grinned wider, pleased.
(Damian's P.O.V)
Lunch sucked on the following day.
Not because of the food—though I'm still convinced the chef trained in a prison kitchen—but because I was sitting at a table flanked by two forces of nature who absolutely hated each other.
Well, one hated the other. Cassandra hadn't stopped glaring at me since first period. She was sitting to my left, her tray untouched. Helena, on my right, was munching on her salad like this was the most entertaining meal of her life.
She tapped her fork on her tray and said, "This table feels like an island of tension. I'll call it... Doom and Gloom. Guess who's who."
"You're the troublemaker," I growled, stabbing at the rice on my plate. "Your fault for pissing her off. I've survived twenty-two assassination attempts since last night."
Helena burst out laughing, loud enough for people at the next table to glance our way. "Twenty-two?! You counted?"
I didn't answer. Cassandra flicked her wrist under the table, and a small knife zipped toward my neck.
I caught it mid-air without looking.
Helena blinked. "Okay, twenty-three. Impressive."
I stabbed the knife into the table, the metal vibrating faintly as it lodged in the cheap wood. "Enough. Talk."
Helena's smirk faded. She scanned the cafeteria subtly, her posture shifting. "Fine. You two probably don't realize it yet, but you're celebrities."
Cassandra's eyes narrowed.
Helena leaned in, voice low. "Underworld's buzzing. Someone called the Calculator leaked your identities—specifically you two and some other guy—as the ones who wiped out the Court of Owls."
I kept my face blank, though inside my interest spiked. "The Calculator?"
"Information broker. Digital ghost. Trades in data."
"Sounds like someone who knows too much," I said.
"Good luck finding him," she added, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. "Guy's a phantom. No address, no signal trace. Ghost with a keyboard."
Cassandra spoke up for the first time since we sat down. Her voice was low, almost a growl.
"Ghosts can still die."
Helena's grin returned. "Ooh, eager much?"
Cassandra slowly turned her head to her, eyes sharp and glinting. A challenge.
I could already see the cafeteria catching fire.
I raised a hand. "Focus."
They both paused.
I turned back to Helena. "Why the personal interest in us?"
She tapped her finger on her water bottle. "Curiosity. You showed up out of nowhere. Five years gone, and then bam, you're back at Gotham Academy of all places."
Cassandra shook her head sharply across from me, eyes warning me not to say anything more. She might as well have held up a sign that said shut up.
I ignored her.
"We're looking for something the Court left behind. Something big," I said.
Helena tilted her head. "That why you snuck into the faculty building?"
Quick wit.
I gave a half-shrug. "Someone here is connected. We were hoping to flush them out."
"And what exactly are you looking for?" she asked.
I studied her. Measured the risk. If she proved untrustworthy, I'd kill her. Simple enough.
"The Lazarus Pit," I said.
Helena's eyes widened. "That's... heavy."
"You know anything?"
"Not really," she admitted. "But I can ask my teacher. He has ties to people who don't show up in public records."
"We'll need an answer before the month ends," I said. "My timeline's short."
Helena nodded. "This weekend. Let's meet at a coffee shop nearby."
Cassandra didn't say anything, but I saw her fingers tap the table once, sharply. She didn't like this.
Neither did I. But this was a solid lead. And the sooner we finished the mission, the sooner I'd say bye to Gotham.
Helena disappeared from school for the rest of the week. No classes. No messages.
Which left me and Cassandra alone at the Island of Doom and Gloom.
Except now, she'd upgraded from assassination attempts to full-blown cold war. And I was getting real tired of being the only one eating.