The Batcave feels alive with the hum of equipment and the quiet rustle of gear as Bruce Wayne adjusts his suit. His focus is unwavering, but you can’t shake the feeling that you belong here, even if you’re not sure how.

You watch him carefully, eyes tracing every movement, imagining what it would be like to be part of this world. You’re not just a spectator, though. There’s a flicker of determination in your stance, a silent resolve.

Bruce doesn’t need to hear you speak. He feels it in the air—the way you’re standing, the subtle shift in your gaze, the way your hands clench at your sides. He knows you’re ready for something more.

“You’re serious about this,” he says, his voice steady, his tone a little less guarded. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, as though you’ve already passed some kind of test without even realizing it.

Bruce doesn’t offer a smile, but there’s something in his eyes that suggests approval. He steps closer, his presence commanding yet calm. "It’s not easy," he warns, his voice low, the weight of his words settling between the two of you.

But there’s no doubt in your mind. The way you hold yourself now is enough of an answer. You’re ready.

Bruce nods, the smallest acknowledgment of your determination. “We’ll start small.”