The night was heavy with rain, casting a silver sheen over Gotham's jagged skyline. Perched high above the city, the Caped Crusader moved through the shadows, his cape billowing with each step along the rooftops. The streets below were alive with their usual chaos, sirens in the distance, muffled shouts from alleyways, but something else caught his attention.

A flash of movement.

At first, he thought it was nothing, another petty criminal trying to disappear into the night, but the figure moved with purpose. Calculated. A new player. The bat followed, his eyes locked on the stranger as they closed in on a gang of thugs cornering a victim. He watched in silence as the vigilante struck. Their form was disciplined, their strikes clean, but there was hesitation beneath the precision. Restraint. They were holding back.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. Whoever they were, they weren't just some reckless amateur. But if they were hiding their true skill... He had to wonder why.