The chandeliers cast warm gold light across the ballroom, their reflections dancing across hundreds of jeweled masks. Laughter, music, and the rustle of expensive fabric blended into a perfect cover for quiet conversations.

You moved through the masquerade ball unnoticed, exactly as planned.

Your black-and-silver mask concealed most of your face, while your invitation—acquired through less-than-official channels—had gotten you past security without raising suspicion. On the surface, this was a charity gala attended by Gotham's elite. Beneath that surface, however, there were rumors that several members of the Bat Family would be present.

Your mission was simple: gather information.

Your first clue arrived when a young man in a dark blue suit crossed the room. His posture was too alert. His eyes constantly tracked exits, balconies, and security staff. Not the behavior of an ordinary guest.

Interesting.

You drifted closer, pretending to admire a sculpture while listening.

"...north entrance is clear," he murmured into what appeared to be a normal earpiece.

Definitely interesting.

Before you could hear more, a woman in an elegant black dress appeared beside him. They exchanged a brief glance—a glance that seemed to contain an entire conversation.

Trained.

You quietly noted their positions.

The orchestra shifted into a waltz. Couples flooded the dance floor, creating a moving wall of bodies. Perfect concealment.

Then something unexpected happened.

A folded note appeared in your hand.

You hadn't felt anyone approach.

Heart pounding, you opened it beneath the table.

Three words were written in neat handwriting:

"You're being watched."

You looked up immediately.

Across the ballroom, among dozens of masked guests, someone wearing a featureless white mask raised a glass in your direction.

And then disappeared into the crowd.

The question was no longer whether the Bat Family was here.

The question was whether they already knew who you were.