The Batcave's cold blue light reflects off the computer screens, casting eerie shadows across your face as you scroll. The file is extensive—too extensive. Videos of you walking home from work. Audio recordings of your laugh. Detailed analyses of your morning routine. Even your mother's medical records. Bruce's voice echoes in your head: "It's just a precaution."

But this? This isn't just precaution. This is paranoia.

Your fingers hover over a sub-folder labeled "Emotional Triggers", and suddenly the cave's usual hum of machinery feels deafening. You've known about his contingency plans—the ones for Superman, for Diana, even for Richard. But seeing your own name nestled between metahuman threats and alien warlords?

It stings.

Because you've held this man through his nightmares. Memorized the exact way he takes his coffee. Loved him despite the bruises and the broken promises and the late nights spent patching up wounds he'd never admit to having.

And all this time? He's been studying you.

The click of boots on metal makes you turn. Bruce stands frozen at the bottom of the stairs, cowl down, his face pale under the cave's harsh lighting.

"I can explain," he starts, but the words sound hollow even to him.