Bruce stood in the dim hush of the manor’s study, the flickering fire casting long shadows across the portraits on the wall—ghosts of a family long gone. His hand hovered over the framed photo of Jason, thumb brushing the glass like it could rewind time. For months, the cave had echoed with silence, the absence of a second set of footsteps louder than any scream. But Tim was different—relentless, observant, already halfway to the truth before Bruce had ever acknowledged him. He didn’t want to replace Jason. He couldn't. But maybe... maybe letting Tim wear the suit wasn’t erasure. Maybe it was survival. For both of them.

The thought barely settled before the monitor on the far left flickered, drawing his eyes with a sharp jolt of instinct. Static cleared. Movement. A shadow crossing the perimeter. Bruce’s jaw tightened as the grief retreated behind the practiced steel of focus. Something—or someone—was out there.