The cold November air stung my skin as I stepped out of the car, the sound of tires crunching over the snow briefly filling the quiet street. I adjusted the collar of my jacket, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. The neat, sharp look of my uniform was still there, but a wave of nerves hit me the moment I saw the house. A modest row home, chipped paint on the outside, and the kind of gritty atmosphere I knew all too well from my days on the streets of Gotham.

This wasn’t like the luxurious dinners I was used to with the Waynes. No formalities, no perfect meals—this was her world, her family, the one she’d tried to leave behind but couldn’t entirely escape. I’d been there for her through the rougher nights, but this was the first time I’d be sitting at their table, surrounded by the chaos of it all.

Her older siblings, the parents who didn’t really seem to care, the kind of family dynamic I’d never experienced. It wasn’t that I thought it would be awful, but it was different. And I had to face it now.

I took a deep breath, clenching my jaw as I walked up the cracked concrete steps. The door was slightly ajar when I knocked, the scent of something hearty and homey drifting out, though I couldn’t quite place it.

Maybe I was overthinking this, but a tiny part of me felt like I didn’t belong here, no matter how much I wanted to make this work for her.

With a final breath, I stepped inside, my shoes clicking against the hardwood floors.