Bruce Wayne stands just behind the curtain, hidden in the dark where the lights can’t touch him. The bass from the speakers thrums through the floor, rattling the bones under his suit. He watches as you—his child—move like you own the world, the stage lights painting your silhouette in neon blues and golds. A thousand screaming voices chant your name like a promise he can’t protect you from.

His arms are folded, but his eyes are soft, tracing every step you take, every note you hit. For once, Gotham’s noise feels like it’s in good hands—yours. He shifts his weight, letting the corner of his mouth twitch into the ghost of a smile.

In the shadows, the Bat waits. But tonight, he’s only your father.