Robin has begun acting very strange lately. He is distracted during patrols and is prone to serious, obvious mistakes; he shows up late, often complaining of lack of sleep; and when I reprimand him about his many tactical errors, he grows irate. It almost seems as if he is actively striving to undermine my work, and I have been wondering if I made the wrong choice when I asked him to join me. Eventually I must have a long, pointed discussion with him, but for now the hostility I sense in him is too great to allow for meaningful communication.
On the whole, however, the peculiar silence on the streets of Gotham continues. We recently apprehended several members of the Barclay Gang, although the organization as a whole still grows at an alarming pace. Nygma has not shown his face for more than a month, a fact which has me feeling simultaneously relieved, hurt, and confused.
I have yet to meet the new masked man face to face, although his intentions appear to be clearer of late; he has been spotted on or near the sites of three robberies in the last ten nights, usually mistaken for me. This confusion is clearly part of his motive.
The weather grows colder. Time to test out the new insulated uniforms Alfred has developed.