She belonged here. Well, not here in Gotham specifically, or even really hanging out in the rain on rooftops waiting for a crime wave so she could take notes on who showed up. But she belonged in the field, or on the Helicarrier, in a way that she never would in a charity ballroom. The criminals and vigilantes were far more her people than the rich and famous, even if she spent more time cuffing them and arguing with them about the benefits of government sanction than polite conversation.
Though, was that really a bad thing?
She raised an eyebrow at the question. "Classified," she said easily. Classified was the answer to everything. "I can confirm that we will leave. And, oh, before the end of the month." That was a suitably broad time frame, and there wasn't much harm that could be done by her admitting to that much. "Then we'll settle into a patrol route." No point in a crime surge because they were gone and wouldn't be back for however-many days; they'd keep things lively.