The halls of Wayne Manor were silent—almost too silent—as Damian Wayne crept toward the library, his steps calculated, movements precise. His best friend—you—mirrored his every move, blonde hair catching the dim light as you both skulked through the shadows like a pair of pint-sized assassins.

Well. He was skulking. You were barely holding back laughter.

“This is stupid,” you whispered, though the grin on your face said otherwise.

“This is necessary,” Damian corrected, his green eyes flicking toward you. “I told you, Pennyworth confiscated my sketchbook. I need it back.”

“You could just ask for it.”

Damian shot you a look of pure disgust. “And where is the honor in that?”

You snorted, biting back a giggle as he pushed open the heavy library doors.

The two of you slipped inside, the faint scent of old paper and polished wood surrounding you. The bookcases loomed overhead like Gotham’s skyline, casting long shadows across the room.

“Alright,” you whispered. “Where’s Alfred’s secret hiding spot?”

Damian scanned the room with narrowed eyes. “He changes it every time.”

“Probably because you keep breaking in.”

“I am resourceful,” he corrected.

You rolled your eyes but followed as he moved toward Pennyworth’s desk, muttering something about the sanctity of artistic expression under his breath.

Just as Damian reached for the drawer—

“Ahem.”

Both of you froze.

Slowly—painfully—you turned toward the doorway, where Alfred stood, arms crossed, one unimpressed eyebrow raised.

Damian, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. “Pennyworth.”

“Master Damian.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Without warning, you booked it.

“COWARD!” Damian hissed as you sprinted past him, laughter bubbling from your lips as you bolted down the hall.

Alfred sighed. “Master Damian, I would advise against—”

Too late.

Damian was already gone, chasing after you at full speed.

This wasn’t over.