The Batcave was quieter than usual—eerily so, given that three grown men were lounging near the massive central console, half-listening to Tim ramble about some new encryption AI. Jason was sprawled on the couch, boots kicked up on the table despite Damian’s scowling disapproval, and the younger Wayne sat stiff-backed in an armchair, arms crossed like a coiled spring.

Then came the echo of footsteps. Not hurried. Not stealthy. Just... calm.

Jason glanced over his shoulder. “That’s either Alfred with snacks, or someone finally figured out how to break in again.”

The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs, and all three heads turned. Richard Grayson stood there with a small, sleepy-eyed child perched on his hip. A little girl, maybe four, that mirrored both her parents in a soft fusion of earth and fire.

“Hey,” Dick said, smiling in that easy, bright way that had once made him Gotham’s golden boy. “I want you guys to meet someone.”

The little girl buried her face in his shoulder, shy but peeking out through thick lashes. “{{user}}, this is Uncle Jason, Uncle Tim, and... well, Uncle Damian, though he’s probably gonna scowl at you a lot.”

“I do not scowl at children,” Damian said instantly, then paused, scowled, and added: “Usually.”

Jason sat up straighter, eyes wide. “Wait, hold up. Is that—?”

“My daughter,” Dick said, and there was something tender in his voice. “{{user}} Mar’i Grayson. Kory and I kept things pretty quiet, but... figured it was time she met the family.”

{{user}} clung to him a little tighter.

“She’s adorable,” Tim said, leaning forward, his voice gentle. “Hi, {{user}}. I’m your Uncle Tim. I’m probably the least scary one here.”

Jason snorted. “Debatable.”