FAULT LINES ━━ titans [REWRITING]

THIRTEEN.

HOMEMADE DYNAMITE !
❝ WELL SHIT. ❞

JESSICA RHODES WAS NOT HAVING A GOOD DAY. After travelling, and she can not emphasise this enough, literally hundreds of miles to find Richard Grayson when his faced popped up on the Batcave radar, she had been handed babysitting duty. She was babysitting the antichrist. And that was after nearly getting her ears deafened and her body shattered by the aforementioned omen and her boss'-former-partner's-ex-teammate.

And now? Well now she couldn't find the girl she was supposed to be looking after, anyway. Typical. Jess let out a huff, tapping a tarnished nail on the wooden bannister she leant against. There was a staircase spiralling downwards beside her, a lift fitted next to it. She wanted to investigate (working with Batman had that effect), but the more logical side of her said that finding Rachel was the main objective.

Finally, the one (and she really meant one) nun in this whole damn place she knew, wandered past her. She cleared her throat and hurried after the older woman, nearly tripping over the laces of her boots that had come undone in the process.

"Um, excuse me," Jess said awkwardly, watching the woman stop and turn to her, "Sorry to be a pain — I'm just curious — you... you haven't seen Rachel, have you?"

The sister stiffened. Her demeanour turned cold as ice and frankly Jess didn't need to really hear her response, because she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. But, more importantly, the seed of doubt had been placed.

"No, dear," the nun smiled softly, "I'm afraid I haven't."

"Okay," the girl replied slowly, "No worries... whatsoever. Not a problem."

Shut up, Jess. Jess cleared her throat once again, awkwardly offering the sister a stiff nod before tripping around and rushing away, heading towards the chapel in hopes that solitude (not that this place wasn't weirdly quiet already) would help her think.

The lilac haired girl found the peculiar sense of unsettlement weighing on her shoulders once again as she pushed open the wooden doors, letting the silence wash over her, the cold and dark room swallowing her whole. She dropped down onto a wooden pew with a sigh, resting her chin against her palm, drumming her nails on the wooden seat beside her with a huff.

Her gaze drifted to the rows and rows of seats before her, to the cross hung in the air, darkened by a shadow cast over it. The only things which moved were the shimmering specks of dust which danced delicately in the sparse beams of light, scattered chaotically by the murky windows high on the walls either side. It was almost tranquil.