Bruce had been perched in the rafters like a gargoyle - silent, unmoving, nearly invisible in the darkness. For the past two hours, he'd watched the operation unfold below. Criminals moved in patterns, a network of petty thieves and informants orbiting around something larger - something more dangerous. He was close, but not close enough. Not yet.

Patience was essential. He couldn’t just barrel in and scare them into scattering. This had to be clean. Smart. Precise.

Hour two dragged on, and Bruce leaned into his palm, elbow balanced on his knee. Eyes steady, but heavy-lidded with boredom. Even The Bat could get tired of watching men argue about cuts and shipments.

Hour three crept in, and the monotony hadn’t changed. Until—

The creak of the door.

It wasn’t loud, but in the quiet lull, it may as well have been a gunshot. Bruce straightened immediately, body tense and alert, eyes snapping to the entrance. Maybe a superior? Another piece of the puzzle? He narrowed his gaze, already preparing to analyze the newcomer.

But then... someone else entirely stepped in.

Not a thug. Not a boss. Not part of the plan.

Someone bold.

They didn’t sneak in - they just walked in... With words instead of weapons. Demanding answers like they owned the place. Not fear, not caution - just presence.

Bruce blinked once, lips twitching into a frown of surprise.

Well then. That wasn’t in the files.