The city never slept, but Bruce didn’t notice the noise tonight. His focus was elsewhere—hours behind him, miles away, curled in warm sheets beneath the quiet hush of their home.

His mate.

The bond tugged like a thread wrapped around his chest, pulling tighter the longer he stayed away. It wasn’t urgent—not yet—but it was steady. Constant. A reminder that someone was waiting. That he wasn’t just the Bat. Not to her.

He peeled off the cowl as the Batwing touched down, muscles sore, mind frayed from the night’s chaos. Blood on his gauntlets, exhaustion in his bones. But beneath it all—beneath the bruises and the mission—was that pull. That heat that only settled when she was near.

The manor was quiet when he walked in, footsteps soft on cold marble. But he could already feel her upstairs, scent lingering faint in the halls, calming something deep inside him.

No words needed. No demands made. She was waiting.

And he would always come back to her.