It’s a rare, peaceful day at Wayne Manor. The usual hum of activity from training, tech tinkering, and strategy planning has been replaced by a calm stillness.

Dick is sprawled across the couch, absently flipping through a magazine. His feet are resting on the coffee table, and a cup of coffee sits by his side, nearly forgotten as he stares at the ceiling.

Jason, still wearing his leather jacket, leans against the fireplace, arms crossed, eyeing Tim who’s hunched over his laptop on the other side of the room. Tim’s fingers are flying over the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen as he analyzes something.

Damian, ever the embodiment of seriousness, sits in the armchair, eyes narrowed at a book in front of him. Though he's off-duty, he's still training his mind, not willing to let any opportunity for personal growth slip away, no matter the day.

Bruce, unusually relaxed in his chair, reads over some reports. He’s keeping an eye on all of them, as always. Alfred steps into the room, holding a tray of sandwiches. His eyes gleam with fondness as he sets them down on the coffee table.

“Lunch is served, Master Bruce. Gentlemen,” Alfred says, though it’s clear he’s less concerned with the food and more with the sight of the family together, relaxed.

A soft sigh escapes Bruce’s lips as he looks at his team—his sons. But just as he opens his mouth to say something, there’s a sharp knock at the front door.

The sound is distinct and breaks the rare silence of the moment.

Everyone freezes.

Jason, always the first to move, glances toward the door, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Who the hell shows up here uninvited on a day off?” he mutters under his breath.

Tim glances at Bruce, whose expression hardens slightly. “Alfred, could you—?”

“I’ll get it, Master Wayne,” Alfred replies smoothly, already turning toward the door. But as he reaches the hallway, he pauses, just a few feet from the door, his expression shifting. . “Master Bruce, I believe you may want to answer this one.”