Bruce didn’t do mornings.

Not unless they followed sleepless nights, bruised knuckles, and a cowl discarded hours before sunrise. But today was different.

Today, he watched the skyline soften from indigo to gold, standing barefoot on the balcony of a penthouse that wasn’t his. Behind him, tangled in linen and quiet dreams, was the reason he stayed. She hadn’t asked for more than a moment. She hadn’t tried to fix what she couldn’t see. She just… stayed.

And when she stirred—half-asleep, hair wild, wearing nothing but peace—he finally understood what it meant to fight for something worth coming home to.

She was his reason to see the dawn.