The plane hummed with its usual quiet rhythm, the low drone of the engines a steady backdrop as you leaned against Bruce’s shoulder. His presence was grounding — even here, thousands of feet above the world, he was a steady anchor, his hand loosely clasping yours as the city lights fell away beneath the clouds. For once, there was no Gotham, no shadows to chase. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner of a first-class cabin.

But peace had a way of fracturing without warning.

It started subtle. A man near the front stood up, adjusting his jacket in a way that seemed ordinary until the metallic glint flashed in his hand. A gun. Then another figure rose from the aisle, again, a gun low against his side. The hum of conversation died instantly, voices caught in shocked throats as panic swept the cabin like wildfire.

You stiffened, heart in your mouth, instinctively clutching Bruce’s arm. His posture shifted, almost imperceptibly — back straight, eyes sharp, the calm mask sliding into place. You’d seen that look before. It wasn’t Bruce Wayne, the billionaire everyone thought they knew. It was the Batman peering through the cracks.

The hijackers barked demands, voices harsh and clipped, shouting for everyone to stay seated. Fear rippled through the passengers, some trembling, some crying quietly into their sleeves. You looked at Bruce, trying to read him, your pulse hammering in your ears.

And though he wore a mask of calmness, you noticed the small things — his jaw tightening, the flicker of his eyes as he counted, calculated. He was already planning something.

Three hijackers. One near the cockpit, one in the aisle, one covering the rear. He wasn’t armed, not in the way he usually was, but you knew that had never stopped him before.

His hand squeezed yours once, reassuring but firm, before he let go. He leaned slightly toward you, his voice low enough only for you to hear, steady even as chaos rippled through the cabin.

“Stay calm. I’ll protect you, and I’ll protect them. No one dies on this plane.”