Page 168 of Joker

That’s the first thing I notice.

The second thing I notice is Raven standing near the bed, arms folded tight over her middle, amber eyes locked on the door before I even fully step through it.

The second I shut it behind me, she asks, “What happened?”

No preamble. No pretending. No false softness. Just straight to the wound.

I lean back against the door for half a second and look at her.

Actually look. At the tension in her shoulders. At the way she’s trying to hold herself upright by force. At the fact that she’s already scared and still standing there anyway.

“Talk to me,” she says quietly.

So I do. Because there’s no version of this where lying helps.

I tell her about the photo first.

Her face drains of color so fast it almost makes me stop talking altogether.

Then I tell her about the message. Then the motel clerk. Then the detective badge. Then the family-linked gas station purchase. And by the time I’m done, the room feels too small to hold all the fear that just flooded into it.

Raven doesn’t fall apart. Not immediately. She stands there and takes it with this terrifying kind of stillness that I’m starting to realize means she’s trying to survive it in real time.

Her eyes flick once toward the window. Then the door. Then back to me.

“How?” she asks. The word comes out rough. Barely there.

“How did they get a picture?”

I keep my voice steady. “Probably someone local got paid to keep eyes open. Maybe not somebody who even knew what they were looking at until they saw you. Maybe someone from his side came in quiet and got lucky.”

Her throat works. She nods once. Like she’s filing it. Like she’s trying to stay functional by turning fear into logistics.

Smart. Also a little heartbreaking.

“I wore the hat,” she says quietly, more to herself than to me. “I kept my sunglasses on. I didn’t stay long.”

I push off the door and cross the room. Not too fast. Not in a way that corners her. Just enough to close the distance. “This isn’t on you.”

Her eyes lift to mine.

There’s something shattered and furious and ashamed all mixed together there, and it hits me like a knife to the ribs.

“If I hadn’t gone—”

“No.” I cut that off immediately.

Firm. Flat. Absolute.

“This is not because you bought groceries.”

She looks away. Jaw tight.

I step closer anyway. “It’s because he’s a fucking predator who doesn’t know how to let go of what he thinks belongs to him.”

That gets her eyes back on me fast. Because she knows what I’m really saying. That this is not a mistake. Not bad luck. Not her being careless.

This is him.