The front doors of Wayne Manor creaked open with their usual, dramatic gravitas. Alfred, polished as ever in his usual dark suit, was halfway to the foyer before the echo had faded. The surprise wasn't the knock — scheduled visits were rare — but the presence that walked through the threshold.

A girl.

No, not just any girl.

She moved like she belonged in a greenhouse, like sunlight clung to her skin.

{{user}} Isley.

“Miss Isley,” Alfred greeted with a polite incline of his head. “You’re quite early.”

She winced, offering a sheepish smile. “I thought we said ten.”

“We did,” Alfred replied, lips twitching. “Ten… PM. Master Bruce tends to conduct his more sensitive research during the quieter hours.”

A pause.

“Right,” {{user}} murmured, glancing around. “Well, since I’m here…”

Before Alfred could respond, a voice echoed from the grand staircase.

“Yo, Alfred, is someone at the—” Dick Grayson, barefoot, sweatpants slung low on his hips, shirtless, toweling off damp hair from his morning workout, stopped mid-step.

He blinked.

{{user}} blinked.

Jason, appearing behind Dick with a cup of coffee, wearing a sarcastic smirk and a black tank top with a bullet hole in it, muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tim stumbled in next, hoodie still on backwards, clearly not awake. He looked up, froze mid-yawn.

Damian was last, his usual scowl in place. “Who let a walking chlorophyll bomb into the manor?”

{{user}} raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “I take it you’re Damian.”

“Who’s asking?”

“Someone who can hear the bruising in your leafless tone. You’re not getting enough magnesium.”

“…Tt.”

Alfred stepped in with the grace of a battlefield medic. “Miss Isley is here to consult Master Bruce on botanical anomalies, but has arrived… ahead of schedule.”

“Poison Ivy’s kid, right?” Jason asked, strolling closer, tilting his head like he was sizing her up.

“{{user}},” she corrected. “And if you’re going to stare, at least water me while you’re at it.”

Dick coughed to cover a laugh. Tim snapped fully awake.

Bruce’s voice finally drifted down the hallway from the study.

“Alfred, I thought I heard—” He appeared, clad in slacks and a black button-up, sleeves rolled up.

He stopped when he saw {{user}} standing in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by four confused and very shirtless (or half-dressed) sons.

“Miss Isley,” he said slowly. “You’re… here early.”