Morning scrapes its claws across the city skyline like it's trying to find something worth saving.
It doesn't find much.
A TV flickers in the corner of Rosie's Bar, muted but screaming in bright letters:
"WHO IS THE RAVEN?"
Grainy phone footage loops on repeat — shaky hands, rain-streaked lens, a silhouette gliding across shipping crates. The cloak billows like wings. There's a scream. A gunshot. Then only shadows.
Some drunk points at the screen. "Told you she's real," he slurs. His buddy barks a laugh. "Or a freak in a Halloween cape. Either way — dead soon."
---
Elsewhere — downtown precinct.
Detective Elias Ward sips bad coffee that tastes like someone's regrets. He flips through crime scene photos — two men unconscious in the dockyard mud. One missing half a throat.
A feather — black, matte, stained red — sits in an evidence bag like a dare.
He rubs his eyes. He's seen gangs, killers, vigilantes who think a mask makes them immortal. None of them last.
> "New freak on the block," his partner mutters.
Ward grunts. Freak or not, she's leaving bodies — and my city's not big enough for both of us.
---
Back at The Nest.
Selene hunches on a battered metal stool while Micah pokes around her shoulder with a pair of tweezers and a disinfectant wipe. Her cloak hangs in tatters nearby — holes chewed through by bullets that got too close.
She flinches when Micah digs too deep.
> "Ow. Careful."
"Relax," Micah says, voice syrupy. "I'm a trained professional. Got my MD at WebMD."
She shoots him a glare. He grins. Under the Nest's flickering lamps, he looks like he hasn't slept in days. Hair a mess, T-shirt full of holes, energy drink can balancing on a half-dead keyboard.
"Hold still," he says, poking the tweezers in deeper. "Or I might accidentally find your sense of humor. I know it's in here somewhere — buried next to your social life."
Selene bites down on the inside of her cheek. The pain is sharp — but not sharper than his mouth.
> "Can you just not talk?"
Micah gasps dramatically. "Oh no. The mighty Black Raven is annoyed. Should I be scared? Is this the part where you throw a feather at me and vanish into the night? Whoosh!"
He mimes wings with his hands. Feathers. Whoosh. She considers stabbing him with her own scalpel.
Instead, she hisses as he swabs the bullet graze.
> "You got sloppy," he says, softer now.
"I know."
"You hesitated."
"I know."
He meets her eyes — behind the jokes, his own shadows flicker. They both carry ghosts. His just talk more.
Micah tosses the bloody gauze in a tin bucket. He flicks his laptop open — monitors come alive with grainy feeds: news chatter, crime forums, police scanners.
> "You made the news," he says, voice back to teasing. "Nice cape, by the way. Did you get it on Etsy? Hand-stitched by Gotham's Craziest Cat Lady?"
"Micah—"
"Hey, you need branding. A logo. T-shirts. 'I Survived the Black Raven and All I Got Was This Lousy Knife Wound'. Catchy, right?"
She can't help it — a breath that's almost a laugh escapes her throat. Almost.
---
On-screen, the news spins stories:
Some call her a hero — a new hope for a city drowning in its own filth.
Others call her a menace — a vigilante who'll start a gang war nobody survives.
Ward's name pops up too — Detective Sworn to Bring Her In — but the city knows how empty that promise is.
Micah leans back, arms folded behind his head, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth.
> "So, feather girl — you gonna brood all day or we making another mess tonight?"
Selene looks at the map pinned behind him. Red strings, pins, scribbled notes. King Crow's lieutenants. Dirty cops. Dead-end leads.
Her father's voice is thunder in her ears: Run, Selene.
She closes her eyes. Opens them again. The city doesn't need her to run.
> "Tonight," she says. "We hunt again."
Micah clicks his tongue. "Atta girl. I'll warm up the drones. Try not to ruin my beautiful cloak this time, okay?"
"Shut up, Micah."
"Love you too, birdbrain."
Outside The Nest, the rain drums on the steel roof. The city hums — restless, afraid, hopeful. Somewhere out there, the Flock sharpens its knives. The detective sharpens his badge.
And the shadows learn a name they'll fear before dawn:
The Black Raven.
---
END OF CHAPTER THREE