The study smelled like cedar and quiet wealth—books lined the walls, the fire cracked faintly, and the storm outside tapped against the windows like a second clock. Selina was seated casually on the edge of Bruce Wayne’s desk, legs crossed, fingers trailing along the silver clasp of a letter opener she had no business touching.

“You don’t just show up after months and ask me to trust you,” Bruce said, voice lower than usual, the kind he used when he didn’t want to wake ghosts.

Selina tilted her head, that familiar smirk playing at her lips. “You always assume I want something.” A pause. “Maybe I missed the view.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then came the soft creak of a door opening—not loudly, but enough to make both adults turn slightly. The child-shaped shadow in the doorway was small, hesitant.

Selina looked over her shoulder with a raised brow, her posture still relaxed, but her eyes sharpened. “You didn’t tell me we had company.”

Bruce’s expression softened the moment he registered who had entered, though the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. He moved slightly, a quiet gesture meant to guide without command. “I thought you were in bed.”

Selina stayed perched where she was, her gaze flicking between the two, curious now. The child hadn’t spoken—but their wide eyes weren’t exactly subtle. Especially not the way they kept darting toward the woman in black like a puzzle they hadn’t decided how to solve.

A beat passed. Then, Selina’s voice—cool, amused, but not unkind: “Well. This just got more interesting.” She met the child’s eyes directly. “I like your shirt.”

She didn’t comment aloud on the cat stitched across the front, but the corner of her mouth twitched, knowing.

Bruce’s gaze narrowed slightly at her, but he didn’t interrupt.

Selina stretched a little, clearly not planning to move. “So… are all your houseguests this adorable, or just the ones who interrupt classified conversations?”

The fire popped softly behind them.

No one had moved.