Gotham had learned to fear the Queen of Cards.

Not because she was the most powerful person in the city.

Not because she was the most violent.

But because nobody could predict her.

Clara liked it that way.

For months, she had operated from the shadows, stealing information from criminals, sabotaging corrupt deals, and occasionally making Gotham's worst people question whether they had suddenly developed terrible luck.

She never stayed in one place for long.

Until one rainy night.

Clara sat alone in an abandoned theater, shuffling the Deck of Shadows between her fingers.

She stopped.

One card was missing.

The deck always contained fifty-two cards.

She counted again.

Fifty-one.

Then she heard something hit the floor behind her.

Click.

Clara slowly turned.

A playing card slid across the wooden floor.

She stared at it.

It wasn't one of hers.

It was completely black.

No number.

No suit.

No symbol.

Just one word written across the front.

CLARA.

Her expression changed.

"Okay..."

She picked it up.

The moment her fingers touched it, every light in the theater went out.

A voice whispered from the darkness.

"I know who you really are."