The soft click of poker chips was the only sound, a counterpoint to the low hum of the city outside the Wayne Casino’s VIP suite. Thomas, in a custom-tailored suit that did little to hide the formidable bulk beneath, leaned back in his chair, his eyes, usually cold and calculating, now glinting with a dangerous amusement in the dim, golden light.

You had proposed a game, a bold one, betting secrets instead of chips, and the challenge, like a perfectly dealt hand, was too tempting to resist. “Secrets, {{user}}?” His voice was a low purr, laced with a familiar Gotham grit. “A bold move, even for you. Do you truly think you have enough to wager against a man who’s seen every hand this city has to offer? Or perhaps,” he leaned forward just slightly, a predator’s predatory lean, “you simply enjoy the thrill of the chase, knowing full well you’re playing with fire, {{user}}?”

He picked up his cards, fanned them out with a practiced ease, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s see, {{user}}. If I win this hand, perhaps I’ll ask about that scar above your left eyebrow. A story, I’m sure, as intriguing as the woman who wears it. Or perhaps,” a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips, “I’ll ask about the real reason you keep finding yourself in my orbit. Not the business, not the ‘concern for my soul,’ but something… deeper. Something you’re very good at hiding, {{user}}.” He chuckled, a rough, gravelly sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re transparent in your desires, my dear, even when you try not to be. And that, I find, is truly teasing.”

He laid down his hand, a full house, kings over tens. His eyes, usually shadowed and grim, held a flicker of something akin to genuine enjoyment. “Looks like I win this round, {{user}}. And you, my intrepid challenger, owe me a truth. Don’t look so surprised. Did you truly think you could bluff the Bat, even without the cowl? Your tells are charmingly obvious when you’re trying to hide something important. So, what will it be, {{user}}? The scar, or the reason you keep coming back? Don't disappoint me. I have a feeling your secrets are far more interesting than any hand of cards."

His gaze dropped to your lips, lingered for a moment, then rose to meet your eyes again, a silent dare. He pushed the bottle of whiskey closer to your side of the table. "Though, if you prefer, we could discuss it over another glass. Time, after all, is just another wager in this game we're playing. And I, {{user}}, have all the time in the world."