The silence in the Wayne library had a reverent kind of weight to it. Warm light filtered in through the high windows, catching dust in the air, brushing over the spines of untouched books. You wandered between the shelves, trailing your fingers along their edges. It was your first time really exploring this part of the Manor alone. Bruce was still at work. Stuck in a board meeting—or so you thought.

The grandfather clock on the far wall drew your attention. Ornate, regal, but something about it felt… off. The hands were frozen, stuck at a strange angle. The time showed that it was morning. Odd. You stepped closer to fix it, studying the mechanism. Your fingers brushed the rim of the faceplate, adjusting the minute hand delicately.

It clicked into place at 10:47.

The sound that followed wasn’t mechanical. It was deeper—something shifting behind the walls. A low, grinding noise echoed through the floor beneath your feet. You stepped back instinctively as the bookshelf to your right trembled… then slowly creaked open, revealing a hidden passage, cool air spilling out like a secret.

A stairwell spiraled down into shadow. You hesitated, heart in your throat, but the pull was magnetic. The staircase was eerie—carved rock replacing polished marble, flickering lights humming overhead. With every step, the temperature dropped, the air thickened. You weren’t supposed to be here.

Then the space opened up. You descended into something entirely otherworldly.

A massive cave, lit with stark white and blue light panels. Technology lined the rock walls like an underground spaceship. Machines, computers, suits in glass. A sleek black car that looked too dangerous to exist. Surveillance feeds blinking across monitors. And in the center, towering screens glowed with maps of Gotham, red blinking points, dossiers, camera footage. Bats rustled far above.

You stood frozen, blinking at it all… until you saw him.

Not Bruce. Not as you knew him. But Batman—armor and mask still on, back turned.

He didn’t turn to look at you at first, like he was afraid to see your face, just straightened his spine. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” came a voice you recognized, though it sounded colder from behind the mask.

He turned slowly, peeling off the mask.

And there he was—your Bruce. Mask in his hand. Hair damp with sweat. Jaw tense. Eyes locked on yours. He froze when he saw you. But there was something hollow in his eyes, like this version of him had been buried deep beneath everything he ever let you see.

His jaw tightened—not in anger, but something more pained. Resigned. No shock. No denial. Just the quiet resignation of someone who’d played out this possibility a thousand times before.

He didn’t move toward you yet. Just stood there in the silence of the cave, eyes locked on yours like he was calculating the next hundred consequences of this moment, as if trying to predict your reaction before it happened.

After a second, he stepped towards you, slowly. Not to intimidate. Just… waiting to see if you’d flinch.

His voice dropped.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this.”