"Sit down," Bruce's words cut through the thick tension in the Batcave. The Dark Knight stood a few feet away from his ward, his sleek body as still as a stoney statue. The atmosphere in the murky cave was taut, like a stretched rubber band, daring either person to break the silence.

Tonight, you had done the one thing Bruce couldn't dismiss. On a mission, you broke his golden rule, and someone was now dead. Bruce approached the table in slow, fluid strides, a stoic expression concealed the brewing fit of conflict in his chest.

"Explain," he ordered gruffly, stopping just a few feet away from his ward.