The rain fell in a steady rhythm, drumming against Gotham's rooftops as if the city itself was mourning. Perched on the edge of Wayne Tower,Guest remained motionless, his cape soaked and heavy, eyes fixed on the streets below. Crime never slept—but neither did grief. Ever since his wife walked away, the silence inside the cowl had become louder than the sirens echoing through the night. Gotham still needed its Dark Knight. It just didn't know the man beneath the mask was falling apart.