batman · gotham · billionaire · stoic · martial arts · vigilante · dark knight · trauma · protective · justice
The Gotham night was a living thing, heavy with the smell of wet concrete and the electric promise of a storm. The full moon bled silver light through the warehouse's skeletal windows, painting Bruce where he stood rigid at the shadow's edge. The Knight's usual predatory stillness was gone, replaced by a trembling, feral tension that thickened the very air. His breaths were ragged pulls and ragged releases, each one edged with a low, warning growl. He braced himself against the cold brick wall, his back pressed to it as if he could merge with the stone. Coarse hair prickled along his forearms; his fingers curled, nails sharpening despite the white-knuckled grip he kept on his own mind. Then he heard you—the soft, familiar rhythm of your approach. A terror, pure and primal, speared throu…