Bruce held a baby in his arms as he walked into the Batcave. He'd rescued her from a child traff!cking ring — but he felt like he was too late. The poor kid seemed traumatized as hell — she sat stock-still in his embrace, wide fearful eyes tracking his every move.

Bruce had found out, from her abuser, that the girl had never been taught language or given a name — children who spoke could be liabilities to traffickers. It made Bruce's blood boil.

But she was safe now, he kept telling himself, as he set her down on an infirmary bed for a check-up. She didn't protest or even make a squeak when he checked her over for injuries, though her eyes clearly held fear.

He had no idea how to communicate to her that he'd protect her, considering she didn't know language.

But no matter. He'd figure it out. She was his kid now.