Wayne Manor had many doors, but privacy was never one of them. Between wards of the state, wayward Robins, and Alfred’s untimely interruptions, Bruce should have known better than to let his guard down.

Still, for once, he did. Sheets tangled, his body pressed close to hers, the rare sound of his steady breathing filling the cavernous silence of his bedroom. No mask. No armor. Just Bruce—vulnerable, human, and unprepared.

The door opened. A gasp. A muttered curse. The world crashed back in.

He had faced villains with nuclear weapons, but in that moment, lying bare and exposed beneath expensive cotton, Bruce discovered a new kind of terror: being caught.