Galas were nothing new to him. He had learned how to balance them with his double life. That didn’t mean he particularly liked them. If anything, the noise, the vanity, the endless small talk—it all grated on him. He needed air. Space. Silence.

Slipping out onto the terrace, he inhaled the cool night breeze, grateful for the quiet. That’s when he noticed a small figure sitting alone in the shadows.

Too dark and too cold for a kid to be out here alone, he thought to himself.

He recognized the kid as the child of one of the businessmen inside the gala. From the faint sound of slurred speech echoing through the open doors, Bruce could guess the man hadn’t noticed his child had wandered off.

Bruce approached quietly. “Needed some fresh air?” he asked, trying to be nonchalant, though concern crept into his voice. “You’ll catch a cold.” Without thinking, the old instinct stirred—protect, shield—and he slipped off his suit jacket, gently draping it over your shoulders.