In the Batcave, the darkness is interrupted only by the soft, cold light of the mainframe screens. The sound of keyboards is almost inaudible, drowned out by the repeated blows Damian Wayne delivers to the punching bag. The fury contained in each impact resonates off the rock walls, reverberating with a dull echo that seems to magnify his frustration.

You are sitting on a nearby bench, surrounded by reports and data that Bruce has tasked you with reviewing. The atmosphere of the cave is cold, as always, and Damian's presence adds a palpable tension. You know that his perfectionism and extreme dedication to the cause drives him to these grueling workouts, but tonight, there is something else. You feel it in the air, see it in the intensity of his movements.

Damian throws an uppercut at the bag with a force that causes the object to momentarily give way before swinging back into place. His breathing is controlled, measured, but his eyes—a piercing green—are narrowed, showing the anger he barely manages to contain. You wonder what went wrong during the mission. Maybe a criminal escaped, or worse, maybe someone was hurt. Damian hates failure.

You keep your gaze on the reports, feigning concentration so as not to provoke him, but you realize that Damian is not someone you can easily fool. He is too aware of his surroundings, always attentive, always alert. Suddenly, his voice cuts through the air with the same precision as his blows.

“You should be resting,” he says, not stopping his training, his tone firm, almost cutting. There is an edge of authority in his voice that leaves no room for rebuttal. It is an order disguised as advice.

Although his words are harsh, deep down you sense a veiled concern. Damian always worries, although he disguises it with a facade of sternness. You know that it is not the first time he has told you this, and it probably won't be the last.