Well. As it turns out, his approach was the right one after all, because she takes the oblique opening he offers. And no wonder she can't sleep. Not only was she tortured and murdered, she witnessed someone else's murder at close range. You never quite forget how it feels, the first time you get a good amount of someone else's blood on you, no matter the circumstances. Jason's killed more times than he cares to count, and not all from a distance. Those eight heads he delivered in a duffel bag to that meeting of Gotham's street-dealing elite? A messy piece of business. But they were scum, not people - certainly not someone who was trying to help fight the sickness that infects Gotham City right down to the steel beams and subway tunnels. And Jason doesn't bat an eye at spilt blood, but he knows he's - defective. Normal people should be horrified at seeing someone's throat slit, and Jason still assumes that's what Stephanie is - normal.

With a sickening knot of guilt settling hard in his stomach, Jason swears under his breath and rubs a hand over his face. Now more than ever, he's convinced he's right, that lunatics like Black Mask shouldn't be given a second chance to ruin lives, or a third, or a fourth. That familiar build of anger against Bruce and his stupid fucking moral line he refuses to cross sparks in his chest and sits there, blazing like a bonfire. Jason carefully climbs down from his perch and moves to take a seat closer to Steph on the stairs, mindful not to crowd her but close enough to signal his support.

"Steph ... I'm so sorry you saw that." His mouth purses into a tight frown, and he shakes his head. "You shouldn't've been in that position in the first place. Gang war, state of emergency - doesn't matter. Someone should've been there for you - someone should've stopped it before it got that bad."