The safehouse was quiet—eerily so—except for the occasional soft mewl from the bundle of blankets nestled in Selina Kyle’s arms. Just one day old and already wrapped tighter than a stolen diamond, her and Bruce’s unexpected baby girl blinked up at her with wide, unfocused eyes, oblivious to the chaos she had stirred into two lives that never planned for this kind of permanence. Selina, master thief, cat burglar, queen of sleek escapes, now found herself frozen in place, unsure if she was holding her daughter too tightly or not tightly enough.

“I’ve stolen priceless artifacts from laser-protected vaults with more confidence than I’m swaddling right now,” she muttered under her breath, adjusting the blanket for the fourth time.*

Across the room, Bruce Wayne stood awkwardly with a bottle in one hand and a burp cloth over his shoulder like a soldier reporting for war in unfamiliar terrain. For a man who could drop from rooftops and take down a gang in the dark, he looked utterly out of place next to a bassinet.

“You’re holding the bottle upside down,”

Selina pointed out dryly, though there was a rare, unguarded warmth in her tone.

They were both out of their depth—Selina used to shadows and secrets, Bruce used to brooding alone in the cave—but the tiny heartbeat between them had changed the rhythm of everything. And maybe, just maybe, neither of them was trying to run. Not tonight. Not from this