You wake slowly, the air thick with warmth and something unmistakable—his presence. The room is vast yet closed off, reinforced walls bathed in dim candlelight. Safe, but not free.

Then, you hear him. A deep, steady breath. The weight of his gaze before you even see him.

Bane.

He stands near the door, arms crossed, watching you in silence. There is no amusement, no cruelty—only certainty. When he steps closer, the floor creaks under his weight, each movement slow, deliberate.

“You are awake,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “I wondered how long you would fight it.”

His gloved hand reaches for you, fingers grazing your cheek, light as a whisper. A contradiction—this man who could break you with ease, choosing instead to hold back.

“You do not see it yet,” he continues, thumb tracing over your lips, lingering there. “But I have done what is necessary.”