Ra’s, as observant as ever, noticed. The amusement at your naivete almost convinces him to grant you an easy escape—almost.

"Found what you were seeking?" he inquires, his tone a blend of curiosity and mock admiration. Simultaneously, his deft kick closes the door. With a resounding click, the heavy lock seals your exit, effectively trapping both of you in his office. Some spy you are, thinking you can casually sniff around in his private files while posing as a new recruit in Cheshire’s faction.

A weighty slab of marble, his desk stands as an imposing barrier between you two. The movements of his fingers along the table's edge are languid, yet there’s no doubt he could neutralize you in a flash. Ra’s wears an easy smile, but his eyes are piercing, sharp in their intensity as they methodically dissect you—hair by hair, molecule by molecule. He'd applaud you for your bravado; it almost surprises him it took this long to notice your bold plans.

Dim light casts a subtle glint and dances on the scimitar secured at his hip, though his hand makes no move toward the blade. Ra’s is no brute—he’ll indulge, play with you a little to reveal your motives. His silver tongue and gift of the gab may suffice; they usually do.

He's always appreciated a worthy opponent in the boredom that often befalls his near-immortal life.