Batman's Log : The Catwoman

The Falcone warehouse burned. Not my doing—their own faulty lantern, according to witnesses. But in the chaos, someone slipped through the flames and took what the Falcones value most.

A diamond. The Sorrow of Astaroth. Fist-sized, blood-red, worth a kingdom's ransom.

I arrived to find the warehouse guard unconscious, bound in silk rope tied with ridiculous precision. A calling card. She always leaves one.

I found her on the Bell Tower overlooking the Merchant's Quarter. Perched on the ledge like she owned it, the diamond catching moonlight in her gloved hand.

"Evening, Shadow." She didn't turn. "You're late. I almost thought you'd let me keep this one."

"The diamond."

"Among other things." She held it up, watching light fracture across her face. Beautiful. Dangerous. Always both. "Do you know what the Falcones planned for this? A bribe. To the Court of Owls, no less. A seat at their table for Alberto Falcone. They wanted to buy their way into nobility."

"And you want to stop them?"

"I want the diamond." She finally looked at me, that half-smile playing at her lips. "The rest is your crusade, not mine."

I stepped onto the ledge. She didn't flinch.

"The Watch has men at every gate. You won't make it past the walls."

"Then I suppose you'll have to catch me." She rose, balanced effortlessly on the stone. "Or let me go. You always do, eventually."

"The Falcones will send assassins."

"Let them."

"The Court will want answers."

"The Court can want." She tucked the diamond into her belt. "You know what I find amusing? You'll spend all night chasing me, but you won't ask the obvious question."

I waited.

"Why was a single diamond worth this much protection? A warehouse full of silk, spices, weapons—all unguarded. One gem, watched by twelve men. Why?"

She had my attention now.

"The Sorrow of Astaroth isn't a diamond," she continued. "Not anymore. It's a vessel. The Falcone family has been bleeding offerings into it for generations. Blood promises. Dark bargains. Every deal they've ever made with the Court, every soul they've sold to Intergang—it's all in there. Trapped."

She leaned closer. I caught her scent. Smoke, steel, something floral beneath.

"The diamond isn't valuable because it's pretty. It's valuable because it's evidence. Against the Falcones. Against the Court. Against half the nobles who pretend to rule this city while the owls pull their strings."

I reached for it. She danced back, laughing.

"Ah-ah. Not yet. You have to earn it."

She dropped from the tower. I followed.

We moved across rooftops, through alleys, past Watch patrols who saw nothing but shadows. She led me a chase worthy of her name—always just ahead, always laughing, always leaving me choice.

At the River Gate, she stopped.

"Last chance, Shadow. Take it from me, or let me vanish. What's it worth to you?"

The diamond. Evidence. Leverage. But also hers now, taken in the night by a woman who answered to no one.

"The diamond stays in Gotham."

"It will. With me."

"That's not acceptable."

"It's not your choice." She smiled. "But I'll make you a deal. The Falcones have a shipment coming through the Marsh Gate tomorrow. Weapons. Star-Iron. Bound for Intergang. Stop it, and the diamond finds its way to someone who'll use it properly."

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't." She stepped backward into shadow. "You care too much. It's your best quality. Your worst too."

I let her go.

Damien waited at the Clocktower, arms crossed, disapproval radiating like heat from a forge.

"You knew she was there. You could have taken her."

"I could have."

"You wanted to take her."

I said nothing.

"This is weakness. This pattern. She steals, you chase, you release. Repeat. She's manipulating you, and you let her because—" He stopped himself.

Because what? Because she challenges me? Because she's the only one who makes me feel something other than duty? Because in another life, we might have been partners instead of adversaries?

"She has information," I said. "About the Falcones. About the Court. About things we haven't begun to understand."

"So do prisoners, after questioning."

"She won't break. You've seen her."

Damien's jaw tightened. "She's broken you instead. You just won't admit it."

He's not wrong. Not entirely.

But tomorrow, I'll be at the Marsh Gate. I'll stop the Star-Iron shipment. And somewhere in this twisted city, she'll be watching, laughing, waiting for the next dance.

The diamond will surface when it serves her purpose. It always does.

I should hate her.

I don't.

End Log.