CHAPTER THIRTY: THE FINAL TEST

“You’re seriously going alone?”

Spoiler’s voice held no anger, just exasperation tinged with something closer to concern. She stood on the rooftop, arms crossed, weight shifted slightly, shoulders rigid. Behind her, Gotham stretched into the night—steel and concrete bathed in neon and shadow, as cold and unyielding as the silence between them.

“Because I can list, like, ten reasons why that’s a terrible idea.”

Taylor finished securing her gear, double-checking the coordinates on the flickering tablet in her hand. Come if you dare.

“I need to know what he wants.”

Spoiler scoffed, her foot tapping against the concrete. “And what, I don’t? We just tore up his weapons drop. Now he’s giving you a personal invite? That doesn’t set off any alarms?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“No. You’ll be alone. And that’s a bad idea.”

Taylor met her gaze. “I can handle myself.”

Spoiler just stared at her for a moment, then let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Because that’s always worked out great for everyone who’s ever taken a villain’s invitation.”

Taylor stiffened, but didn’t respond.

Spoiler let the silence hang between them for a beat before sighing. “Look, I get it. You want to handle this your way. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Taylor adjusted her mask. “I do this, I get answers.”

Spoiler let out a sharp breath. “Great. And while you’re walking into an obvious trap, I get to deal with the fallout of what we pulled at Tricorner.” She tilted her head slightly as sirens began to wail in the distance. “Oracle’s patching me in—Black Mask’s trying to take advantage of Penguin's loss to claim more territory. Someone’s gotta slow them down.”

She took a step back, continuing, “So here’s an idea: let’s handle this first. Then we can deal with whatever game the Calculator’s playing. Preferably not on his terms.”

Taylor hesitated, but shook her head. “The longer I wait, the more control he has. If he wants me to play, I’d rather set the rules.”

At that moment, something unreadable flickered in the slump of Spoiler’s shoulders—anger, worry, or both—she turned, her cape snapping behind her. “Fine. Your call. Just don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ later.”

She fired her grapple and swung away without another word.

Taylor watched the spot where she had been, a pang of something unwelcome settling in her chest.

Then she turned toward the rendezvous point.

. . . . .

The warehouse was empty.

No guards. No signs of a meeting. Just silence, stretching through the abandoned space like a waiting predator.

Taylor moved cautiously, her steps echoing across cracked concrete. The air carried the scent of dust and rust, remnants of an industry long abandoned. And in the center of the room, stark against the emptiness, sat a small, metal case.

She approached, every muscle coiled, ready for anything.

Flipping it open revealed nothing inside except a simple screen, flickering to life as soon as she touched it.

A message.

This is your final test.

Her pulse spiked.

Then—

Boom.

The explosion ripped through the night, distant but unmistakable.

Taylor’s head snapped toward the source—the Narrows.

For half a second, she stood frozen, her mind catching up to the implications. The case, the message, the explosion—it all clicked.  

She had never been the target.  

Gotham was.  

Her stomach twisted. The Calculator hadn’t just been testing her resolve or her skills. He’d been testing her priorities. And now, she had walked straight into a distraction. And the Narrows—crowded, vulnerable, already hanging on by a thread—was paying the price.

The ground beneath her trembled slightly, a faint tremor reaching even here. In the distance, an orange glow bloomed against the skyline, fire licking hungrily at the dark.

Taylor didn’t hesitate. She turned and sprinted from the warehouse, her heart pounding in time with her boots against the pavement.  

She didn’t know what she’d find when she got there, but one thing was certain:  

Blood must flow.