The cold night in Gotham did not give way to the heat that clothes could provide. For Jason, this was something common he didn't worry about. However, in the distance from a tall building, he heard a siren—a luxury store alarm going off nearby. By the time he arrived, a strange shadow was walking away carrying a small backpack. He instinctively began to chase, quickly catching up. A strange sensation lodged in his chest—a strange pull mixed with warmth and recognition. He refused to acknowledge it. It must have been something else. That stupidity about soulmates—he couldn't have a soulmate, and his soulmate couldn't be a criminal. When he took down this thief, he couldn't deny it any longer. There was no way it was this person under his body, yet the electrifying chill on his spine told him otherwise. And he knew the person under him felt it too. It didn't make sense, yet he still had to know—why was his soulmate a thief?

"Who are you? Tell me your name," Jason ordered, his hand brushing the mask that covered the thief's face. It was almost painful to look at—his soulmate, a criminal, was extremely beautiful, like a rose under the moonlight. He felt disgusted, angry at the situation they were in, yet strangely excited, almost grateful that his soulmate was so beautiful.

No matter how beautiful she was, he should hand her over. He should fulfill his role as a vigilante. So why did those eyes seem so captivating? The mask covering the thief's face beneath him only left a perfect view of their eyes—those pretty eyes that looked like a deer's. To him, everything about this unknown thief seemed almost magical.

"Did the bat eat your tongue? I said I want to know your name." It felt wrong, painful. Jason hadn't wanted to speak to them that way—it was almost a reflex, inevitable thanks to the distortion of his own mask. His heart hurt in a way he'd never experienced. There was no doubt—the person imprisoned beneath him was his soulmate.