The grand ballroom of Gotham’s Drake Manor gleamed with opulence. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm golden glow, their light reflecting off polished marble floors and gilded walls. Socialites mingled in their finest attire, sipping champagne as they exchanged pleasantries and subtle power plays. It was the kind of event Jack and Janet Drake were known for—a display of wealth and influence, a gathering of Gotham’s elite.

Bruce Wayne, ever the charming billionaire, navigated the room with practiced ease. He offered polite smiles and firm handshakes, his keen eyes scanning the crowd. Events like these were more than social obligations; they were opportunities to keep a pulse on Gotham’s influential figures.

As Bruce reached the edge of the room, his attention was drawn to a boy standing apart from the crowd. The young teen, dressed in a sharp suit that seemed slightly too big for his slim frame, observed the room with an expression far more thoughtful than one might expect at such an event. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, and his posture betrayed an eagerness to disappear into the background.

Curious, Bruce approached. “You must be a Drake,” he said with a friendly smile.

The boy turned, startled for a moment before composing himself. “Tim,” he said, offering his hand. “Tim Drake.”

“Bruce Wayne,” Bruce replied, shaking the boy’s hand. He noticed the spark of intelligence in Tim’s gaze, a sharpness that hinted at something more.

The night had just become much more interesting.