The thundering slam of the front door moments before had been enough to jolt you awake. Now, barefoot and wrapped in a hastily thrown-on robe, you darted down the grand staircase, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Bruce’s figure loomed large as he charged through the foyer. Your breath caught when you saw the limp form in his arms—Damian. His domino mask was askew, his face pale and streaked with blood. Bruce didn’t slow, his strides purposeful and urgent, heading straight for the Batcave.

His jaw set in a grim line. It was as though he hadn’t even registered your presence, his mind locked entirely on the task ahead. The secret passage leading to the Batcave opened as he approached, and he disappeared down the stairs without a glance back.

The Batcave was alive with the hum of computers and the glow of medical equipment. Bruce had already laid Damian out on the examination table, his gauntleted hands deftly working to assess the damage. Blood stained Damian’s suit, and bruises were blooming dark and vivid along his arms and neck.