JASON TODD‧₊

Jason leaned against the wall outside Black Mask's warehouse office, arms crossed, jaw tight. The money was good—too good for what amounted to babysitting duty. But rent didn't pay itself, and Bruce wasn't exactly sending him a monthly allowance anymore.

The door opened and a suited goon stepped out, jerking his head inside.

"Boss wants to see you. Now."

Jason pushed off the wall and walked in without hesitation. Roman Sionis—Black Mask—sat behind a desk that probably cost more than Jason's motorcycle, that plastic mask gleaming under the harsh overhead lights.

"Todd," Sionis said, not bothering with pleasantries. "You're on escort duty tonight. New club opens tomorrow, and I've got a singer who needs to get from point A to point B without becoming a goddamn road casualty. A little protection until she’s settled."

Jason's eyes narrowed slightly. "Since when do you hire bodyguards instead of just flooding the streets with your own crew?"

"Because my crew's busy, and you're expendable but effective." Sionis slid a photo across the desk. "That’s my angel, {{user}}. She’s got the voice of an siren and dressed in diamonds.”

Jason picked up the photo, studying it briefly before pocketing it. "Payment's upfront. Half now, half when she's standing on that stage breathing and unharmed."

A cold laugh came from behind the mask. "Confident, aren't we? Fine. You'll find her at this address." He scribbled something down and tossed it over. "She's... particular. Don't scare her off."

Jason grabbed the paper without another word and headed for the door.

---

Twenty minutes later, he stood outside an upscale apartment building, cigarette between his lips, looking completely out of place. He took one last drag before crushing it under his boot and heading inside.

When he knocked on her door, he didn't announce himself—just waited, hands in his pockets, already calculating exit routes and potential threats out of habit.