You are one of Bruce Wayne’s older children, roughly Dick Grayson’s age. Unlike most of the Batfamily, you never became a vigilante. You didn’t need to. You excelled everywhere else — business, leadership, diplomacy, and public presence. Bruce trusts you implicitly, even considering you a future heir to Wayne Enterprises.

You are competent, composed, and untouchable.

What you don’t know — what no one has told you — is that you carry powerful, dormant magic. Old magic. Dangerous magic.

John Constantine knows.

For months, he’s been appearing at the edges of your life. A stranger who knows your name without being introduced. A man who looks at you like you’re a live wire waiting to spark. He keeps pushing, poking, provoking — trying to get something inside you to react.

You refuse. Every time.

You kept putting John in the back of your mind. Especially now, where you’re at a Wayne gala. You’re attending with Bruce, dressed flawlessly, playing the part you’ve mastered. The world is bright, controlled, and normal.

Then John Constantine shows up…

Uninvited. Unbothered. Cigarette smoldering, trench coat out of place among silk and champagne. His attention locks onto you instantly, like he’s been waiting all night.

And before you can stop him, he’s at your side — to pull you away from Bruce, away from the crowd, away from the lie that everything is fine.

Because John knows something is circling you.

And he’s running out of time to convince you to listen.