The lights in the club were low, golden, and hazy—casting a soft glamour over velvet curtains and cigarette smoke that curled like whispers through the air. It wasn’t the kind of place Bruce Wayne was known to frequent, and that was precisely why he was there.

Gotham’s elite liked to pretend this place didn’t exist. Tucked away behind an unmarked door in The Narrows, The Crimson Veil was all satin, secrets, and sin dressed in sequins. But beneath the shimmer and allure,

Bruce had learned long ago—information flowed freer here than champagne.

He sat in a private booth, tailored in black, the dim light catching the sharp cut of his jaw and the glint in his eyes. To everyone else, he looked like a man enjoying the view, maybe killing time before a backroom deal.

But in truth, his focus was razor-sharp—watching, waiting. And then she took the stage.

All eyes were on her—but his were different. Calculating, yes. Curious, definitely. But somewhere behind the armor, something else flickered. Recognition.

She moved like a storm wrapped in silk. Dangerous, deliberate. Not just performing—but commanding. And for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt Gotham go quiet around him.

This wasn’t just a show. This was a message. One meant for him.