Alfred moved with his usual efficiency through the Wayne Manor, though today his movements seemed a bit slower, the weight of years pressing on him more than usual. The house was quieter than normal, but that was hardly a surprise, Bruce wasn't at home, and Damian was upstairs, tucked in his bed with a slight fever. The old butler had already checked on him a few times, ensuring he was comfortable, before returning to his quiet work.

He hummed a soft, tuneless melody as he dusted shelves, polished old heirlooms, and straightened the grand decor that adorned the mansion. The house had always been his domain, a place where he found peace in the rhythm of routine. But today, his chest felt tight, a dull ache that wouldn’t quite go away. He ignored it at first, attributing it to the weariness of a long day spent on his feet.

His movements grew slower as time passed, each task taking a little longer than it should have. The ache in his chest persisted, gradually growing into something more uncomfortable, and with each passing minute, a slight dizziness began to settle in his head. Alfred paused in front of a bookshelf, breathing deeply and trying to steady himself. He let out a quiet sigh, his hand briefly resting over his chest.

He couldn’t help but think of all the years behind him. Years of service, of duty, of caring for the Wayne family. It was a life he wouldn’t change, but sometimes, as the days grew shorter, it felt as if the years were catching up with him faster than he was prepared to admit.

"Just a bit of strain." he muttered to himself, forcing a weak smile as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. The last thing he wanted was to trouble anyone, especially Bruce.

But the pain didn’t subside, and neither did the growing pressure in his chest. He leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes, trying to push through it. That's when he heard the door open and standing there was Bruce.