Ever since Bruce had adopted you, it was like you didn’t exist.

You trailed behind in training, nowhere near your siblings' level. Not because you weren’t trying—but because no one had the time to teach you. Bruce was always too busy. Damian was his priority, Jason was his regret, and Tim was the one who needed fixing. You? You were the extra. The quiet one. The one who didn’t cause problems. The one who didn’t get noticed.

And you were sick of it.

“Yes, I know, Mr. Peeler. Terrible, isn’t it?”

Bruce’s voice was smooth as ever, his posture impeccable as he navigated the gala. You trailed just behind him, exactly where you always were—on the outskirts of his attention. You tapped his shoulder.

No reaction.

“Well, I’ve been donating as much as I can, but you know how these things go.”

Still nothing. You might as well have been a ghost.

He’d barely acknowledged you when he dragged you all to this event, nearly forgetting you in the car. Hadn’t spoken a single word to you all night. And now—

“Yes, the new child I adopted is splendid,” Bruce said, not even glancing at you. “They’re a bit reserved, don’t talk much, but—”

You yanked his sleeve. Didn’t talk much? Maybe you would if he ever listened.

Before you could say anything, a voice cut in.

“There you are.”

You went rigid. The man from earlier, the one who had been watching you, stepped close. Too close. His hand settled on your shoulder, fingers pressing lightly but lingering, like he was testing how much you’d let him get away with.

“Such a quiet little thing,” he murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his smile. “Not used to attention, hmm?”

Your stomach turned. You tensed beneath his grip.

Bruce didn’t turn his head.

Didn’t shift his weight.

Didn’t react.

“So mysterious,” the man mused, voice dropping lower. “How about a little chat? Somewhere quieter?”

Your grip on Bruce’s sleeve tightened. Hard.

He didn’t notice.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to see you, then he’d damn well see this.