143. Ashes and Embers. (Patreon)

“The past does not forgive, nor does it forget but it can be outlived.”

---

The night after dinner, Jade found herself walking along the quiet streets of Gotham, hood drawn up, the air sharp with autumn chill.

She had eaten until her stomach hurt, laughed until she’d almost forgotten what guilt felt like and now the silence pressed in again.

She told herself she was just taking a walk.

But her feet already knew where they were going.

A small clocktower loomed ahead, its lower floor lit by amber lamps and a faint hum of security drones. Red Arrow’s safehouse.

“Old habits die hard.” She muttered.

She stepped out of the shadows and tapped on the reinforced window.

Inside, Roy Harper turned, bow half-raised—then froze when he saw her.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then Roy lowered the bow. “You’ve got guts showing up here, Cheshire.”

“Please,” Jade replied, pulling down her hood with a wry smile. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

Roy snorted. “And yet you’re the one who looks like she’s running from something.”

Her grin faltered. “…Maybe I am.”

He hesitated, then stepped aside, motioning her in. “Don’t make me regret this.”

---

The safehouse smelled faintly of oil, leather and coffee.

Jade sat on the edge of the worktable while Roy leaned against the window, his bow hanging at his side.

“You really changed.” He said after a moment. “Not sure if I buy it yet.”

Jade shrugged. “Didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” He studied her face. “But you spared me. Back in the summit.”

“I did." She admitted softly. “You reminded me of something I’d forgotten. That not everyone in this world is a target. Plus you're good eye candy.”

Roy gave a small smile. “Thanks. And what are you now?”

Jade looked down at her hands—steady, scarred but clean for once. “Trying to be something better. Maybe for myself. Maybe for them.”

“Them?”

“My mom. My sister.” Her voice softened. “We had dinner together. Real dinner. No shouting, no guilt. Just… home.”

Roy nodded slowly. “That’s rare in your line of work.”

“Tell me about it.”

They fell into silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward—just heavy with things both of them understood too well.

Roy finally spoke, voice low. “You know, I think King had something to do with this.”

Jade’s eyes narrowed. “You think he planned my family reunion? No kidding, Sherlock.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “King doesn’t plan. He nudges fate like it’s clay.”

“Maybe.” She tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Then I guess I owe him a thank-you. Not that he’d care.”

Roy looked at her for a long moment, then said quietly, “He would. He just wouldn’t admit it.”

---

Far above Gotham, in his tower of midnight stone and silence, King stood by the window.

Below him, the city glimmered like a field of dying stars—each light a story, each shadow a choice.

He could feel them—their threads of truth weaving and twisting in delicate harmony.

Paula’s laughter still echoed faintly in the unseen fabric. Artemis’s resolve burned like a beacon. And Jade’s soul, for the first time in years, no longer felt like a storm.

He watched the two faint sparks that were Jade and Roy—different, but converging.

Not lovers yet. Not allies yet.

But perhaps something worth believing in.

“The assassin has returned home.” King muttered.

He turned away, the stars reflecting faintly in his eyes. “And when truth takes root, even darkness must yield.”

---

Down below, in the safehouse, Roy poured two cups of black coffee.

“To second chances,” He said simply, handing one to Jade.

She smirked, clinking her cup against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

And somewhere high above them, unseen but present, a faint warmth stirred in the currents of the world —

King’s silent approval.