The shrill scream of the fire alarm split through Gotham Academy’s quiet afternoon like a blade. Students flinched, dropping pens and half-finished worksheets as the flashing red lights pulsed across the walls. Tim Drake, fourteen years old and sharper than anyone knew, froze mid-step. He knew the system—every floor had smoke sensors tied into a private emergency network. And right now, his gut told him this wasn’t a drill.

He slid his phone out beneath the desk while everyone scrambled for the door, teachers shouting for order. A few quick taps brought up a secured app masked under a calculator icon. The feed from the school’s internal cameras loaded—one by one, each hallway flickered to life. Most showed students rushing out. But then, one frame caught his eye: the chemistry lab, empty except for a thin trail of smoke curling from the vent near the floor. The pattern wasn’t random—Tim recognized the dispersal. It wasn’t smoke. It was gas.

Heart racing, Tim ducked his head low, pretending to tie his shoe while he slipped toward the corner, out of sight. His fingers flew over his screen again, activating a line directly to the Cave.

“Bruce,” he whispered, voice steady despite the alarm’s wail. “It’s not a fire. It’s chemical. Someone’s releasing something through the vents at the academy.”

Static, then Bruce’s deep, controlled voice answered, “Stay calm. Get everyone out safely. I’m on my way.”