The manor was quiet—too quiet. Rain tapped against the windows like a slow metronome, counting down the seconds you’d been left alone. But you could feel it: the walls weren’t empty. Not really.

Then a door creaked. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s voice echoed softly from the hallway, almost hesitant. “The cave called.”

He stepped into the room, dressed down in a dark shirt, not the suit. Hair damp, jaw tense, eyes scanning you like he was checking for injuries you hadn’t even noticed yet.

“I had Alfred make sure you had everything,” he said, walking over. “I would’ve come sooner. I just… needed to confirm we weren’t being followed.”

You blinked at him, confused. “Followed?”

Bruce didn’t answer right away. He looked away, jaw working. Then, quietly: “Someone tried to track you. Through me.”

Silence.

He looked back at you then. And something shifted in his eyes—not fear. Not anger. Just this tired, heavy protectiveness.

“You’re safe,” he said. “I made sure.”