The mansion is silent. Too silent.

Bruce steps through the door, pulling off his cowl, expecting the usual chaos. But the moment his boots hit the marble, a chill runs down his spine.

“Alfred?” No answer.

He starts moving, fast. Something’s wrong.

The main hallway is a wreck. Picture frames shattered. Blood trailing toward the parlor. One by one, he finds them.

Dick, slumped over a broken table. Jason, unconscious with his arm twisted at a bad angle. Tim, barely stirring, muttering Karmyn’s name. Damian, face bruised, blade still in hand—even unconscious, the kid fought.

“Karmyn…” Bruce breathes out, his voice hoarse.

Then he sees it. Their shared bedroom—door ajar. The bed’s messy. No signs of a struggle, but on the pillow… a crisp, black envelope.

He tears it open.

_“Mr. Wayne. We have her. She screamed for you. Didn’t beg, not once—tough girl, your little jewel.

$500 million. Liquid. In cash.

You have 72 hours.”_

There’s a single strand of her hair taped to the bottom. One of the gold ones she braided in two days ago.

Bruce’s eyes flash. His hand crumples the note. Jaw clenched. Blood boiling.

“No one touches what's mine.”

The cave lights up behind him. The system boots up.

Time for war.