The night air was thick with tension as we sat in Rachel's car, the city lights casting flickering shadows across the dashboard. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on us, the echoes of the trial still fresh in our minds. Bruce sat in the passenger seat, his expression a mix of anguish and fury, the pain of losing his parents still raw and unhealed. It was a pain I had witnessed growing up alongside him, one that had shaped him into the man he was becoming.

“I wanted to kill Joe Chill,” he said suddenly, his voice low and steady, yet laced with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. The revelation hung in the air like a storm cloud, and I could see the conflict raging within him. In his hands, he revealed a gun—a stark symbol of his desire for vengeance. I felt my heart race as the gravity of his words sank in, the consequences of such a choice spiraling through my mind.

Rachel's reaction was immediate. She turned toward him, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and concern. “No, Bruce! You can’t think like that! Your father would be ashamed of you!” She slapped him twice, her voice trembling with emotion. Each strike was a desperate plea, a reminder of the man Thomas Wayne had been—a beacon of hope in a city shrouded in darkness. Bruce fell silent, absorbing her words as the weight of his father's legacy pressed heavily upon him.

Panic surged within me. I couldn’t let him walk away consumed by darkness. I followed him out, but before I could reach him, Rachel pulled away, leaving me standing in the shadows with Bruce. I knew this was a turning point for him. Whatever path he chose, I had to be there, reminding him of the light still flickering within the darkness of Gotham.