Wayne Manor had seen many ghosts.

Some walked its halls in memory. Others in guilt.

Alfred Pennyworth stood near the sitting room window, hands folded behind his back as he waited. He had waited for many things in his life — orders, wars, boys who needed fathers.

But never this.

Bruce had made the call. Insisted.

“They deserve to be here,” he’d said.

Now the front doors opened.

And Alfred turned…

To face the child he had not raised. His child he hadn’t seen in decades. You…