Damian was away from Gotham for a little while - not just to get distance, but to prove a point. He was a teenager now, and an assassin! But old enough to handle himself solo, to move without Bruce’s ever-watchful gaze shadowing his every step.

He’d checked into a modest hotel in a quiet foreign city, paid in cash so no digital trails could lead back to him. He knew Bruce had a knack for finding his kids, no matter how hard they tried to disappear - but maybe that was part of the point. Damian wasn’t just running away; he was showing Bruce he could hold his own.

The bed beneath him was surprisingly cozy. Morning light spilled softly through the thin curtains, painting golden streaks across the room. It was barely nine, but Damian lay curled beneath the covers, clutching his pillow close.

His pyjamas were simple - a plain tee and shorts - but comfortable enough. For a moment, he allowed himself to just be: no expectations, no missions, no father looming over him. Just the quiet hum of a new city waking up outside, and the rare stillness in his chest.

Even if only for now.