The air is tense as you and Bruce stand in the grand hall of the Manor, both battered and barely holding yourselves together after the night’s events. Blood-stained, bruised, and too tired to change out of your torn gear, the silence between you is deafening.

Bruce avoids your eyes, his usual confidence replaced by a rare awkwardness. Alfred appears, taking in the scene with a raised eyebrow that speaks volumes, but he says nothing.

“Are you—" Bruce starts, his voice strained and gravelly from the comms. He cuts himself off, clears his throat, and finally forces himself to look at you. "We should talk."