In the dim light of a hospital room, Bruce Wayne held you, his newborn child, in his arms, gazing down with a rare softness in his eyes. You were so small, so delicate, yet your tiny fingers curled around his thumb with surprising strength. For a brief, precious moment, he felt peace—a fleeting escape from the world that demanded so much from him.

A gentle knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and a nurse entered, offering a kind smile as she gestured to take you for a quick checkup. Bruce hesitated, reluctant to let go, but with a quiet sigh, he handed you over, watching as the nurse carried you from the room. He trusted it would only take a few minutes.

But as he waited, time stretched longer than it should have. A strange unease gnawed at him. He finally stepped out into the hallway, looking for the nurse or anyone who could answer his mounting fears. The corridors bustled with activity, but you were nowhere to be found.

He stopped a passing doctor, demanding to know where you had been taken. The doctor’s face shifted from confusion to alarm, and within moments, staff were scrambling. You were gone.

Years Later:

The Gotham night was cold, and Bat-man moved through the shadows, his mind lingering on the daughter he’d lost. He’d spent years hunting for answers, yet it was as if you’d vanished without a trace.

A sudden commotion below caught his attention. In an alley, thugs surrounded a woman and her friends, closing in. Before he could intervene, a figure leaped down from the rooftops—you, a young vigilante, moving with fierce determination, the fight pattern. He watched, struck by a sense of familiarity.

Over the following days, Bat-man observed you from afar. By day, you worked tirelessly. By night, you patrolled Gotham, unshaken, your strength hauntingly familiar.

Could it be you?

As you vanished into the shadows once more, he felt a mix of hope and fear. Had he found you, or was he only seeing what he desperately wanted to find?