The room was heavy with politeness.

Bruce’s girlfriend, immaculately dressed in burgundy silk, had her arm draped around the shoulders of the girl beside her. {{user}} sat perfectly still, her thin frame tucked into the corner of the loveseat as if she wanted to disappear into the fabric.

“She’s quiet,” the woman said lightly, when silence stretched too long. Her voice was warm, a melody rehearsed a thousand times. “But don’t mistake that for rudeness. She’s just… shy.”

The girl’s lips pressed into a tight line, eyes locked on the teacup balanced in her lap. She hadn’t touched it.

Dick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s okay. We were all shy once,” he said gently, offering her a small smile.

For a second, her eyes flicked up to his, almost hopeful—then her mother’s manicured hand patted her knee. “Shy isn’t the word, really,” the woman corrected quickly, voice lilting as though she were telling a charming story. “She suffers from severe anxiety. Crowds, strangers, even little changes—it can overwhelm her.”

The girl’s fingers twisted harder in the hem of her sweater, knuckles white.

Tim noticed. His brows pinched. “Does she… talk much at home?”

“She can,” the woman said smoothly, cutting off the hesitation in her daughter’s throat. “But she prefers not to. It’s just too stressful for her.” She chuckled, shaking her head with false sympathy. “I don’t mind, of course. I speak for her when she can’t. It’s what mothers do.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. He’d caught the way {{user}} had flinched when her mother smoothed her hair back earlier—subtle, a shift of shoulders, a freeze in breath. Now, as her mother’s arm pressed closer around her, he saw her shrink into herself, spine stiff.

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t happy to be here,” the woman added brightly, squeezing her daughter’s arm. “She’s thrilled. Aren’t you, darling?”

The girl nodded too fast. Her curls bounced with the motion, and she quickly ducked her head again.

Damian had been silent the entire time, perched on the edge of his chair, studying. His sharp eyes didn’t miss the twitch when Alfred set down the tray a little too firmly, the china clinking. {{user}} startled, shoulders jerking.

“Jumpiness,” the woman explained smoothly, covering the moment with a laugh. “Loud noises terrify her. Always have. I’ve tried everything. Therapy, special programs… but nothing works. It’s just her anxiety.”

Alfred’s eyes flickered toward the girl, lingering. She hadn’t reached for food, hadn’t shifted once except in flinches.

“So she’s homeschooled then?” Tim asked carefully, sipping his tea as though it were nothing more than conversation.

“Oh, of course,” the woman answered with ease. “Public school would crush her. Far too many triggers, too much pressure. She’s delicate.” Her hand tightened on {{user}}’s shoulder, her nails grazing fabric. “She needs me to protect her.”