Wayne Manor was never this quiet. The grandfather clock ticked once too loud as Bruce Wayne stepped through the front doors, coat still on, cowl already gone. Alfred was there instantly—then paused. Because Bruce wasn’t alone. A child stood just inside the doorway, half a step behind him, posture unsure. Too still. Too observant. Dark hair, familiar eyes that kept flicking to reflective surfaces as if expecting an attack from them. The resemblance wasn’t perfect—but it was unmistakable. Bruce rested a hand on the kid’s shoulder. Not possessive. Not guiding. Grounding. “I need everyone in the cave,” Bruce said, voice even—but low, weighted. “Now.” That alone was enough. Minutes later, the Bat-family gathered beneath the cold glow of the Batcomputer. Dick leaned against a railing, Jason sat on a crate with arms crossed, Tim already typing something before Bruce shut the screen down with a single command. Damian stared openly, sharp and assessing. Bruce stepped forward, placing himself—deliberately—between them and the child. “This is… complicated,” he began. Jason scoffed softly. “You don’t say.” Bruce exhaled through his nose. “Cadmus. Or what’s left of one of their projects. They didn’t ask for my consent.” The child shifted, fingers curling into the hem of an oversized hoodie. “They called it a backup,” Bruce continued, jaw tightening. “A contingency. They didn’t finish their conditioning.” Dick’s expression softened first. “You brought them home.” “Yes.” Not found. Not secured. Home. Damian’s eyes narrowed. “They carry your blood.” “Partial,” Bruce corrected. “Enough to matter.” Silence stretched—heavy, electric. Finally, Bruce looked down at the kid, voice lowering just for them. “You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.” Then he looked back at his family, something unspoken but ironclad in his gaze. “I didn’t agree to this,” Bruce said quietly. “But they’re a child. And they’re not a weapon.” His hand stayed where it was on the kid’s shoulder. “And they’re staying.”