Wayne Manor was never truly silent. Even now, in the dead of night, the old walls creaked under the weight of history, the distant tick of the grandfather clock filling the emptiness. But no alarms blared. No footsteps echoed behind you.

You had planned this perfectly.

Your bag was packed—just enough to disappear without a trace. No sentimental items, no obvious signs of departure. You couldn’t give them a trail to follow.

Because they would follow.

That’s what scared you the most.

You weren’t leaving because you didn’t love them. You were leaving because you did.

This life—their life—wasn’t yours. You weren’t a soldier, a detective, a vigilante. You weren’t meant for bruises and broken ribs, for sleepless nights spent chasing shadows. You had tried, but Gotham had swallowed you whole, and no matter how much they tried to keep you afloat, you were drowning.

You had to go.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the doorknob—

“Going somewhere?”

The words cut through the quiet like a blade.

Your breath hitched. Your stomach turned to ice.

Slowly, you turned.

They were all there.

Bruce stood in the center, unreadable as always, but his eyes bore into you like he already knew why.

Dick, near the stairs, his easy smile gone, replaced with something uncertain—something worried.

Jason, arms crossed, jaw clenched, barely masking the storm behind his eyes.

Tim, fingers twitching like he was already running through every possibility of what had led you here.

Cass, silent, watching. She had known before anyone. Of course she had.

Duke hovered near the back, blinking the sleep from his eyes, his usual warmth laced with confusion.

Stephanie and Barbara lingered by the door, eyes heavy with understanding.

Damian was closest. His gaze flicked between you and the bag in your hand, realization sinking in.

But it was Mia who spoke next.

“You’re leaving?”

She looked up at you, small but steady, voice quiet but cutting straight to the truth. Her expression wasn’t angry—just hurt.