The phone rang once. Twice. Then silence. You checked the screen—unknown number.

When you answered, the voice on the other end was smooth. Deep. Familiar in a way that made your skin prickle. Not loud. Not angry. Just… measured. Controlled. “You always answer on the third ring,” he said, amused. “You're peculiar.”

Bruce Wayne had a thousand public faces, but none like this. Not the billionaire in the magazines, not the man with a wine glass at charity galas. No, this voice was something colder. Calculating. The mask might be plastic, but the presence behind it was anything but fake.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued softly, and you could hear the faint sound of footsteps behind the calm. “You know what you did.”