The doors opened with a reluctant groan, ancient hinges creaking like the bones of forgotten giants.
Jason stepped out of the training wing after one year of silence.
His boots echoed in the stone corridors, crisp and steady. The same halls that had once loomed over him now felt... smaller. Familiar. Manageable.
But it wasn't the halls that had changed.
It was him.
He passed familiar faces. Instructors. Assassins. Apprentices.
Some nodded in acknowledgment. Others stared, uncertain whether to challenge or greet him. He returned nothing but a glance. Calculated. Cold. He had no time for ritual or ego.
Talia was waiting.
She stood in the same chamber where he had first refused her mission a year ago. The same quiet strength in her posture. But when she looked at him now, something flickered behind her gaze—uncertainty, thinly veiled as curiosity.
"You emerge," she said.
"I'm ready," he replied.
She circled him slowly, appraising. "You've changed."
"I adapted."
"To what?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he looked past her—toward the wall, where a new mission briefing had already been prepared.
"You knew I'd come back."
"I had faith," she said, voice light. "Not all do. Some believed the Pit broke you."
He smirked faintly. "Then let them keep thinking that."
The Mission: Extraction in Delhi
A League courier had been captured by a rogue splinter group—one of Ra's' disavowed followers who had gone underground, gathering mercenaries and arms. The courier had intel on League movements. Talia wanted the asset recovered, and the splinter group silenced.
It was a live combat test—a real-world mission in a civilian-dense urban zone, and not one meant for a newly "recovered" warrior.
Which meant only one thing: they were watching.
Jason said nothing. Just nodded once and disappeared into the night.
Delhi — Nightfall
The warehouse was tucked in the industrial quarter. Rusted containers, old cranes, flickering sodium lamps. Civilians nearby. Too many. That was intentional. Collateral meant control. Jason wouldn't go loud.
Which suited him.
Tactum was made for silence.
He slipped into the shadows, calculating sightlines, predicting guard rotations before even confirming them. Every movement was pre-emptive, not reactive. He didn't walk into danger. He rewrote its path before it could form.
He disabled the first guard with a nerve strike—three fingers, 0.6 seconds. Silent drop. No damage. Total control.
He moved like inevitability.
The splinter soldiers didn't know they were already surrounded. Not by numbers. Not by firepower. But by superiority.
Inside, he found the courier—a woman, bloodied but conscious—tied to a pillar. Two guards flanked her. A third stood at a control panel, armed and watching the camera feeds.
Jason didn't hesitate.
He moved in seven calculated steps. One strike shattered the first guard's knee. The second dropped after Jason applied a precise elbow to the temple—angled just enough to knock him out without a concussion.
The third turned—gun raised—but Jason was already there.
Tactum initiated.
He stepped inside the guard's reach, shifted his weight, and struck a nerve cluster beneath the man's arm. The weapon dropped. A sweeping leg-hook. Disarm. Then—
A pause.
Jason caught the man by the collar and whispered, just loud enough:
"You lost before you started."
Then he dropped him.
The courier stared.
"You—Jason Todd?" she asked, voice cracking.
He nodded. Untied her hands.
"Are you... okay?" she said. "They said you were—"
"Broken?" he finished, calmly. "They always say that."
Return to the League
He arrived alone, the courier returned by alternate transport. Silent. Efficient.
Talia met him on the balcony overlooking the mountains. Wind tugged at her cloak. She didn't speak at first.
"You didn't kill them," she said finally.
Jason leaned on the railing. "Didn't need to."
"I sent others before you," she said. "They failed."
Jason gave her a look—measured and still.
"Then they weren't ready."
Talia's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "They're saying you moved like a ghost. That you... anticipated them. That it wasn't a fight. It was a dismantling."
He said nothing.
"You've become... more than what I expected."
"I'm still sharpening," he said.
She looked at him long, and for a moment, something unreadable passed between them.
Not trust.
Not pride.
Apprehension.
In her private chambers, Talia met with two senior instructors.
"What did he show you?" one asked.
She stared out the window, toward the peaks.
"A glimpse," she whispered. "Of something I may not be able to control."