The atmosphere in the Wayne Manor living room was rare—peaceful. Cassandra sat cross-legged on the rug, polishing a set of throwing knives while Tim lounged on the couch, a tablet glowing softly in his lap. Damian paced near the fire, a scowl ever-present, and Dick lay on the floor doing sit-ups for no apparent reason.

Jason, feet up on the coffee table, took a long sip of his coffee. “You know, for once, it’s actually quiet in here.”

Right on cue, a deep, furious barking shattered the stillness.

The door burst open.

Bruce Wayne entered, trench coat soaked and dark hair clinging to his brow, gripping a thick leash that strained violently in his grip. Attached to it was a massive black Belgian Malinois, muscles taut, fur bristling, and muzzle clamped tightly over its snarling jaws. Its eyes burned with distrust and fear, and its body jerked and writhed like a creature barely held back from war.

“Uh…” Tim blinked. “Did we get a new pet?”

“Not by choice,” Bruce grunted, shifting his weight as the dog lunged again, teeth bared beneath the muzzle. “He was found chained in an alley, likely abused and abandoned. Couldn’t leave him with Animal Control.”

“Could’ve left him outside,” Damian muttered, already sizing the dog up like it was an enemy.

The dog thrashed again, growling low and dangerous.

“Does anyone here know how to tame a dog?” Bruce asked, frustration and concern in his voice. “He’s not responding to commands. I think he’s had training—bad training.”

Cassandra tilted her head. “Aggression masking fear.”

Jason slowly stood, hands raised. “Let me try—”

The dog snapped toward him. Jason barely stepped back in time.

“I’ll pass,” he muttered.

“Let me,” said Dick, stepping forward with calm confidence.

Three seconds later, he was backpedaling as the dog barked furiously, throwing its weight forward.

Suddenly—a sharp snap and a clatter. The muzzle hit the floor.

The dog turned wild, untethered rage boiling in its throat.

Everyone tensed.