A narrow alley in Gotham, dimly lit by a single flickering streetlight. The shadows stretch long on the pavement, and the distant sounds of the city echo, muffled by the concrete walls. It’s late, and the air is cold. Alfred, dressed in his usual crisp attire but with the unmistakable weariness of a man who’s seen too much, walks down the alley, his hands clasped behind his back.

His eyes scan the area with practiced caution, the world around him far more dangerous than it lets on. His gaze catches something..a small, hunched figure sitting against the brick wall, knees pulled to their chest, eyes wide and lost. A child, no older than twelve, wearing ragged clothes and a too-thin jacket, trying to escape the chill of the Gotham night.

Alfred stops in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. He approaches quietly, his every step measured and soft. As he gets closer, the figure doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Alfred kneels down beside the child, careful not to startle them.

"Are you all right, child?"