Chapter Text
Unlike his midterm study guides, the crime scene is easy to understand. The evidence is straightforward but the implications are unusual enough that the Gotham Police Department had discreetly asked for help.
Adding a text-based help line was his suggestion and it's pleasant every time someone reaches out for assistance without needing to scramble to field a call. As Damian had insisted in one of far too many polite arguments where he and his father do not yell but do not seem to understand each other, the Batsignal is dramatic and showy and proof that Batman will soon be on the case. There are times and uses for such a visible call for help but there are also times when a quieter approach is far more useful.
Damian steps into a clean portion of the room to look over the full scene. A security guard had happened upon the scene of a murder and called for help while trying to give first aid. The two suspects fled, the larger into the building and the smaller out the window. Despite the guard's best efforts at putting pressure on the wounds, the victim had been declared dead at the scene. The paramedics thought that the man had been dead before the guard ever touched him but the coroner will make the official ruling in time. Damian had questioned the guard briefly but agreed with Montoya's assessment that the man would need time to calm down before he could give any further details. The unfortunate guard was only on his second shift alone and was far more ready to deal with vandals and graffiti than an execution.
The deceased middle-aged man of average height looks looks as if he was in reasonable physical shape and there are no signs he was bound at the time of his death. He has only two defensive wounds, suggesting a very quick opponent but not one with superhuman speed, and all injuries suggest that his assailant was much shorter. Unless the man's opponent was on his or her knees at the time of the assault, Nightwing is looking for a killer approximately the height of an eight-year-old child.
Any further evidence will be put together by the police officers already on the scene, the forensics department, and the coroner. Nightwing stands up and carefully makes his way out of the room.
“I agree with your conclusions,” he tells the detective on the scene. “I will alert Batman so that he can help look for the suspect.”
Montoya raises her coffee cup to him. “Thanks, Nightwing. Love the new suit, by the way.”
Damian doesn't know what to say to that. Most people seem to have no idea that Black Bat and Nightwing are the same person. A few Gotham tabloids are still running baseless front-page articles insisting that Black Bat has died no matter how many times Batman has patiently denied the rumor to police officers brave or worried enough to ask him. Montoya, proving all over again to be one of his favorites, doesn't mind that he doesn't reply. She turns back to the rookie officers and forensic technicians under her command.
“Alright, people, let's do our job the right way and follow proper Gotham de-contam procedures. Two of you are brand-new transfers and I am not going to have incidents at my crime scene,” she barks as Nightwing heads for the roof.
Gotham decontamination procedures have grown vastly more complicated since Damian started to patrol with his father. Liaising with the Justice League was very helpful overall but it did make de-contamination and detective work more complicated. They didn't only have the Gotham rogues, now. Sometimes the Justice League's enemies followed Batman to his city or some new rogue in the making was inspired by a different city's villains.
Sometimes, though, trouble came through the same villains that had spent years refusing to reform. Only a lucky flip of Two-Face's coin had saved Damian from severe injury. Two-Face is still in jail, months after Damian was left unharmed beyond a few bruises, but Father is still worried.
Father had overreacted badly enough that he had raised his voice. Alfred had interrupted nearly immediately and insisted that both of them would speak to someone else before they tried to argue again. From the way Alfred shooed his father upstairs, Damian was sure that Alfred would be personally making sure that his father talked the overprotective streak over with someone else.
Damian had spoken with Uncle Clark. His uncle had shown up with Jon in tow. Jonathan Kent had little patience for listening in on the conversation, super-hearing or not, so the four-year-old had wandered off with Titus and Krypto to explore the woods behind the house.
Uncle Clark had been the one to suggest that some of the increased tension came from Black Bat getting his start as Bruce's sidekick. Quite a few people in the Justice League had chosen a new name as they matured and were ready to begin an independent career. Damian hadn't had much patience for bedtime stories and fairy tales when he first moved to Gotham but he had slowly come around on the idea when they occasionally babysat for Jonathan and the child wanted to hear familiar tales every single night at bedtime. Jon's parents always obliged, frequently repeating Uncle Clark's stories about Nightwing and Flamebird. After the first few nights where Uncle Clark would tell the stories over speakerphone, Jon decided that Damian's rendition was enough to settle in at bedtime.
Uncle Clark had insisted that Damian didn't need to keep Nightwing unused for Jon's sake. It would be good for Jon to grow up in a world that saw Nightwing as a hero, Uncle Clark said, so Damian had taken weeks to puzzle through Kryptonian designs and symbols with Jon occasionally scribbling out his best attempts in the margins of Damian's sketchbook.
Uncle Clark insisted that Damian's final design was perfect. It wasn't as if Damian could inspire many heroic thoughts by taking up inspiration from his mother's side of the family, especially after eight years of mutual silence, and he was looking for a little more distance from his father's well-known legacy.
One of his uncle's obnoxious ideas, however, was preemptively inviting his father to help with cases that would benefit from two investigators. If Damian made a point of working with his father when the situation merited the help, then perhaps his father would give him more space on cases that Damian could handle on his own.
Damian has yet to see the fruits of this approach but both Alfred and Clark agree that it was wise. Both Alfred and Clark also think that Damian's plan to get a bachelor's degree in management and then a master's degree in business administration is a great idea, however, so perhaps Damian should have more freedom to work alone without any fear that his father will sweep in when his presence is not needed. Business school is dull and his classmates are little better.
Damian taps his wrist to connect the comm to his father's frequency. If he doesn't specify, all of his non-urgent calls go to Alfred first. “Batman.”
“Nightwing.”
“The scene is just as Detective Montoya described – adult male, killed with a knife. The primary assailant may be a child. Montoya has officers searching the office complex for the adult, last seen heading to a different office. The witness says that the smaller assailant fled from the balcony and climbed up the fire escape.”
“Copy, Nightwing. Are you in pursuit?”
As much as he'd like to handle the case on his own, something is not right. It would be far better to have backup on the way before his father's help would prove useful. “I am looking for any signs of the primary assailant. Additional help would make the task easier. There are only two defensive wounds, both shallow, suggesting a quick attacker. Three of the victim's injuries suggest someone who killed without hesitation. ”
“What does the last one show?”
“I don't know.” It could be hesitation, regret, worry that the security guard had come across the killing... There were too many options for Damian to claim one as the answer but his father might know at a glance. “Some of the footprints the detective mentioned are small and match the killer's likely stature. A few were likely from an adult male, by size, and one larger than the victim.”
“Good work, Nightwing. I'll work from the ground, perhaps? The suspect might not have stayed high.”
Damian smiles. “Agreed. I'll keep to the rooftops. Nightwing out.” That's another part of their careful compromise that's still in progress. They work together, sometimes, but Father often leaves him the more entertaining part of a job after allowing him to take point on a crime scene and liaise with the police as an independent vigilante. Father will do a thorough job searching the alleys and working around the dumpsters. Damian will put years of practice to use and search from the rooftops.
Rooftop tag had been very lopsided for the first several rounds. Tagging his father would have been difficult even if Damian had been willing to commit to the exercise. Damian hadn't understood why the training exercise was so unstructured and it was hard to believe that his father would spend so much time on a game. In time, it started to get a little more even, but now he could easily outpace his father as long as he didn't leave time for his father to plan a trick.
He might never have his father's talent for inference but Damian at least is very practiced in deduction. Damian works in a spiral moving further and further out from the crime scene. He doesn't see any signs of the assassin's exit path so he can't change to a more efficient path. His father seems to not be having any more luck on the ground. If the assassin went directly from the victim to a vehicle, Damian might never find the answers he wants, but that third wound sticks in his mind. The first two injuries had the sort of clean edges he associates with an unconscious victim – no distortion at the edges, a sign that the victim did not have time to resist. Something changed with the third, however, and he still doesn't know why that wound displayed so much less skill.
Damian can't find any sign of the assailant but he keeps up the search and methodically checks over the rooftops. For once, after years of polite notice to various buildings that not only Batman and Black Bat take advantage of the rooftops, all of the rooftop access doors are locked. The assailant could have taken advantage of propped-open door but he doesn't see a cinderblock or brick someone might have used to keep the door open for a smoke break. There aren't many places to hide, not even for a child, and perhaps she only went up long enough to dart down a different fire escape. He almost moves past the rooftop air conditioning unit four blocks away from the crime scene. He stops to reassess the unit and at first doesn't know what caught his eye.
The maintenance cover is slightly ajar. This apartment building is very well-maintained and generally kept tidy. The doorway that would lead down into the building proper is always kept locked, a precaution that far more Gotham dwellings should take, and the air conditioner is not in use but there is a quiet high-pitched sound coming from behind the maintenance cover.
Most adults could not begin to fit into such a space. If their assassin is not merely a small adult, however...
He clicks his comm twice to flag his location for a possible lead. One click is to catch attention, two clicks for a silent warning that backup may be helpful, three times for urgent help.
His father clicks back once in acknowledgement.
Damian slowly approaches the air conditioner. The faint noise cuts off abruptly when he carefully drops to one knee in front of the cover.
“We don't have to fight,” Damian says softly. “I want to see if you're hurt. I'm going to open the hatch now.” If it's a child someone has trained to kill, he won't give the child more time to remember whatever else he or she may have learned.
He pulls the cover back. He's more surprised that the tiny child huddled into the space doesn't throw a knife or leap out at him than by her size. She is very small, perhaps eight years old, and has a plain black long-sleeved t-shirt streaked with dust and leggings that do not seem armored. Her hands are smeared with tacky drying blood despite her best efforts to clean them off with the hem of her shirt. She isn't wearing a mask and nothing about her appearance gives him an idea why she could be the killer.
Damian turns his communicator to broadcast. “We don't have to fight,” he repeats gently. “Will you tell me your name, please? I'd also like to know how old you are.”
Batman clicks his comm a second time. Damian knew that would catch his attention. Damian would hardly ask an assassin's age in such a tone if he was not speaking to a child.
The girl doesn't speak. She looks at him with dark eyes but doesn't focus on his face. She pays far more attention to his shoulders and hips, possibly looking for signs of a fight, and she does not relax.
“Did you lose your weapon?” Damian asks her.
“I found it in an alley a block north of your location,” his father replies quietly. “I think our assassin ditched it behind a dumpster and then found the fire escape on that building. It's the lowest access point in several blocks.”
Damian frowns. All the questions he has asked so far are benign enough even for a child assassin. He had been sent away from the League of Assassins in disgrace weeks before he would have had the opportunity to practice deadly force but he certainly had been given a script of what to say if captured. Even a defiant statement would be more expected of a child than silence.
Damian reaches out to her. Unlike many children in Gotham, she doesn't inch closer to Nightwing. She makes that odd sound again, high-pitched and grating and not anything that he would expect a child to produce. He draws his hand back but this time the noise doesn't stop.
His father lands on the roof with no more sound than the rustling of his cape. The sound stops as she looks past Damian to assess the new potential threat.
“Not much of a talker, are you,” his father says quietly.
“She has made sounds but has not said a word.” Damian studies the girl. Even if she doesn't speak English, she should be tracking the conversation for hints. She's focused entirely on his father but doesn't pay attention at all when his lips move.
His father sits cross-legged on the roof as if he was not in lunging range of a girl who killed already. He brings both hands forward slowly and deliberately forms a few signs that look far more complex than the hand-signs they use on patrol. When that doesn't get any response from her but a puzzled look, he tries again in a different variation. “No response to American or British Sign Language.” He presses one of the controls built into his gauntlet. The patrol car's engine revs loudly and the girl flinches.
“Not deaf.” Father doesn't move from the vulnerable position of sitting on the rooftop, facing directly toward her, and if anything looks more relaxed when he addresses the girl again. “I think it'll be hard work to force you to come out of there. I'd much rather persuade you. It's safe to come out.”
Damian bristles. Father is not even pretending to protect himself. The girl could be a meta-human or have some sort of preternatural abilities. If she has another weapon, she might throw it.
The girl's sharp gaze snaps back to Damian.
“You're making her nervous,” his father says mildly. “I don't think she's going to lash out. If she manages to stab me, you can personally call Superman to Gotham to save me and then tell the story to the entire Justice League. She ran, she found a hiding space, and she's still hiding. If she wanted us to find her and set up an ambush, I imagine she would have given you a few more clues.”
Damian bites back several retorts that he wants to make. He knows better than most that children her size can be deadly but it is unnerving to have a child look at him with open fear. “Would you prefer that I move one roof over, then? She seems to prefer you.”
“Please,” his father agrees, as if that isn't a ridiculous suggestion, but Damian had made the offer.
Damian uses his grappling line to leap up to the neighboring building's roof. He'll have a better vantage point from there if this all goes wrong and a little more cover to help the girl's nerves.
Less than ten seconds after Damian settles behind the half-wall, the girl slowly unfolds herself from the tiny space. He can't see any change in his father that would make it so. The soft voice hadn't been enough with Damian there. That had been how Father spoke to Damian, years ago, back when Damian hadn't been able to tell kindness and consideration from contempt and mockery. He had misunderstood nearly all of his father's overtures as tests and tricks. He had confused his father's understandable frustration and concern for displeasure with Damian himself. The two of them might have carried on for years without Alfred's intervention.
The slip of a girl gravitates toward his father on shaky legs. Her blood-stained hands seem to be empty but she might have weapons concealed beneath the long sleeves that drape oddly on her slender arms. She drops to her knees just inside his father's reach and sits back on her heels, hands clasped behind her back.
“I'll need to find a safe place for her,” Father says quietly, broadcasting his words through the communicator. Damian is too far away to make out the words without his earpiece. “I think she'll come with me. Perhaps you can find the other suspect. The police haven't had any luck.”
“Agreed.” Damian doesn't like the idea but he clearly won't be as helpful looking after the girl. When Father stands up, the girl follows suit at a single gesture from him.
“Perhaps she sees you as a handler.” Damian reluctantly steps back from the wall. Even when Damian is easily in her view again, the girl keeps her focus on his father. “I suppose she doesn't look likely to stab you.”
“The two of us will figure this out,” Father replies. “Perhaps you'll be able to find her previous handler.”
“Agreed.” Father knows more than almost anyone what to do with a child that wasn't taught to be a child. Damian watches as the girl obediently follows his father down the fire escape. She's quick on her feet and looks relieved to have someone telling her what to do. She sits calmly enough in the patrol car's passenger seat and his father drives off without any difficulty.
Someone had trained a child to kill but had not trained her to speak. Damian puzzles at the utility as he heads back toward the crime scene. The cops will be there still, undoubtedly, but anyone else that might be seeking the girl won't have many clues for finding her. She didn't show any signs of communicating. She obeyed orders conveyed in gesture easily enough but it would be difficult to give all orders through sign.
Damian chooses a high perch that overlooks the police officers and forensic team as they investigate the crime scene. His father's few reports are distressing. He chooses to bring the assassin to the cave below their home and Alfred insists on attending the girl personally. A domino mask seems insufficient protection for Alfred's identity and for dealing with a child who killed a man only an hour ago but Damian's logical protests are ignored.
Father's stubbornness is expected. Alfred's rapid agreement that the girl will stay is puzzling. Alfred insists that he's happy to look after the young lady and that he doubts that she has any intention of hurting anyone. The girl can't speak and they have not made any new breakthroughs in something that is not a direct order given in pantomime. Both of them remain certain that the child will stay.
If some assassin was patient enough to train a girl incapable of speech, then that foe will likely be patient enough to wait for the police to be done. Damian keeps to his comfortable vantage point high up in the air and doesn't move.
Montoya is the last to finish decontamination procedures and the last to leave the scene. She looks far more tired than when Damian saw her hours before but also grimly satisfied with the work that she did. She checks that the scene is secured before trudging into the building and out of sight.
Damian continues his stakeout. Stakeouts are almost pleasant after Alfred helped him prepare audio books. It's far more pleasant to listen to a novel rather than a marketing textbook but at least he can feel productive even if the stakeout yields no result. Nearly an hour later, someone enters the room from somewhere inside the building, and the shadow paces the perimeter before slipping out onto the balcony. The figure does look up, when surveying the area for observers, but does not catch Damian flat against a rooftop.
Damian drops into pursuit. There are times that he thinks wistfully of the cape that he'd worn as Black Bat and the way it could distort his silhouette. When he cares mostly for speed and stealth, though, he's glad with the dramatic change that separated Nightwing's costume into something very different than Batman's.
His target moves quickly. The target seems to be an adult man and his clothing does not say much about his purposes. If Damian hadn't watched him emerge from the crime scene, he wouldn't have known to follow him. Keeping up without drawing the man's attention is difficult enough that it would be more pleasant to have backup. He lost that chance when he started pursuit without alerting his father, however, because if they wouldn't lock the girl away he wants no chance that she will be left alone with his grandfather.
The man heads toward the alley where Damian's father found the murder weapon with only a few quick changes in direction to break the direct travel. The man doesn't look for clues in any side alley but keeps moving toward his destination only to find an empty alley. The weapon that the girl abandoned is long-gone and the girl is probably still sipping broth under the protection of Damian's family. The man frowns and looks intently at his mobile phone.
Seconds later, a sharp beep sounds from between the dumpster and the wall. The man straightens and confidently goes to look behind the dumpster, only to reach into the darkness and stand again with something like a smart watch in his hand and fury on his unmasked face.
The girl must be smarter than either of them had imagined if she knew to abandon her tracking device. The man must have thought that the girl would stay meekly in her place until she was collected. Little wonder he had been so confident that he waited for the police to leave instead of tracking her right away.
Damian has seen enough. He drops into the alley and lands in a whisper of sound. The small noise is enough for the man to turn to face him, watch-like device still in hand. “Looking for someone?”
The man raises a brow. “If you found her, you should have known better than to leave her alone.” The man tosses the watch idly. “She's an experiment and not one that's all that stable or successful yet. I imagine you're here because she killed a man.”
“Was it not on your orders?”
The man tucks the watch into his pocket. “All I can say is that she's a tiny bit more stable than her half-brother. That's not much of a mark in her favor. People call him Mad Dog for a reason but I can calm her down.”
“I am not familiar with Mad Dog by any name.”
“You wouldn't be. He didn't start working with the League of Assassins until years after you left.”
Damian frowns at the implied certainty about his identity as much as the unexpected framing. He imagines most of the League had been told of his exile for failures in training. “I was unaware the League would accept someone with so little stability.”
“Ra's is still wasting time trying to find a suitable heir. The League's standards are falling.”
Damian's frown deepens. “My mother is his heir.”
The man shrugs. “If Ra's wanted Talia for an heir, he would not have been so pleased when you were born. He grows old, Damian Wayne, and even the Lazarus Pits cannot sustain him forever. He would welcome you home as the future leader of the League of Assassins. You would not lack for supporters.”
Damian pretends that he is not unsettled to hear his name spoken with great confidence despite his mask. Years of etiquette lessons with Alfred and staying blankly pleasant in the face of very unpleasant accusations from tabloid reporters serve him well. Ra's al Ghul has known his father's identity for decades. Many of his most favored allies are also trusted with Batman's identity. He will not allow this man to know that Damian is surprised. “You seem remarkably well-informed.”
“You could say so. I suppose introductions would be polite,” the man replies. “David Cain. The girl I was following is Cassandra, Lady Shiva's daughter. Shiva doesn't want anything to do with her and I'm doing my best to get through to the kid. She's never pulled a runner like this before and I imagine that whoever is trying to hold onto her will realize they screwed up sooner or later. She belongs with the League of Assassins. No one there will be fooled by the young face.”
“I don't mistake your interest for altruism.”
Cain laughs. “I'm not often accused of altruism. Pragmatism is my style. You'll see right through any lies I tell and then you won't listen to the rest of what I could tell you. If you've never thought about coming back... you should consider it. Your grandfather would be pleased to know your skills are not oversold.”
Damian does his best to continue looking bored. He can fight Cain, if necessary, but that may not give him the advantages that neutrality might. “I have no interest in helping your search.”
Cain accepts the nonspecific answer for what it is. “I guess I'll keep looking on my own, then. She's not got great control of her instincts so I'll probably need to sweep the solo cells at a juvenile detention facility if they can hold her that long. It was an honor to meet you, Damian al Ghul.”
Cain turns his back to Damian confidently and walks away, tracking device in his pocket. When Damian heads home, even the most defensive driving on his motorcycle can't give him any sign of someone in pursuit. By the time he takes the least-used side road that will lead to the Batcave, it's nearly dawn.
The motorcycle was a gift from his father and had been finished days before Damian had showed him the concepts for the Nightwing suit. Based on Uncle Clark's descriptions and Damian's favorite parts of the Black Bat suit, Nightwing's straightforward costume lacks a cape and has a long stripe of blue down each arm. The stripes meet in the center with a stylized emblem that Uncle Clark had sketched several times until Damian could see which elements seemed to be the most important. Damian had sketched the final version for his costume himself and somehow his father had managed to get a precise copy worked into the motorcycle's paint job before Damian had decided it was the final version.
The dark blue stripe of color is eye-catching and Damian thinks that it has already been helpful at separating his equipment from his father's. His father prefers black cars and black capes with the occasional yellow accent or Bat silhouette. Nightwing's motorcycle and costume and gear all have touches of blue.
Usually, however, he thinks about the concept of developing consistent visual motifs on far more sleep. His lecture about branding will start in just three hours and that will make it even more offensive than usual. So many classes are meant for someone planning to develop a business from the start rather than someone who will inherit two massive companies that employ thousands of people. Wayne Enterprises takes great pride in its corporate culture and expects a highly-involved CEO that can immediately switch from discussing acquisitions and mergers to listening to Lucius Fox's latest advances as chief technical officer. The Wayne Foundation is the largest charity in Gotham and prides itself that it will never rest on its laurels and will always keep improving what services it offers and how easily they can be accessed. His father is certain that Damian will enjoy the job even more than the degree. Damian doesn't know when he should begin to enjoy college but so far it has been a disappointment. Skipping a grade in middle school and starting college at seventeen was supposed to let him spend time with classmates at his level of maturity. Perhaps that will start in another year or two.
When Damian reaches the cave, his father is working at the main workstation. His father's hair is wet and drying unevenly, suggesting that he'll complain about putting his hair in order in time for the board meeting in just a few hours, and he's already changed into his trousers and button-down shirt even if he left the jacket and tie draped over Damian's chair.
“Any success?” his father asks.
Damian drops his motorcycle helmet. “I believe David Cain was the second person in the room, presuming that he was honest about his name. He called the girl Cassandra but I have no way of being certain he was any more honest about her name. She might be Lady Shiva's daughter. He waited in the building until the police left and expected to find the girl through use of a wearable tracking device. He followed the signal to the alley where you found the knife.”
His father turns away from the computer. “Tracking device?”
“Circular, about two centimeters diameter, and fixed to a band like a watch,” Damian reports. “I don't know where you found the knife but she crammed the device between the dumpster and the wall. He took it with him when he left.”
“Hm.” His father frowns. “Cassandra hid the device much more carefully. The knife was in the center of the alley. She went down to the ground to ditch everything but then climbed right back up to hide.”
Damian looks around the conspicuously empty cave. Both holding cells stand ready with their doors open. “Where have you hidden her?”
His father raises a brow. It's not as impressive as Alfred's skeptical expression, not really, but it still makes Damian feel as if he has again missed an inference that other people find incredibly obvious. “A guest room.”
“A guest room? She killed a man!”
“She's also eight or nine years old, by our guess,” his father replies all too calmly. “Alfred locked his door for the night after getting her settled. We didn't want to risk sleepwalking or some sort of odd conditioning that struck after she fell asleep or was left alone for a while.”
Damian scowls when he realizes that there is an active camera feed below his father's work on the night's case. It shows a closed bedroom door, one just three doors away from his father's own bedroom. The rest of the screen shows that Father has the preliminary forensics report and police notes all neatly collected around his father's own findings. Damian would have had trouble finishing even half that much work before his morning classes began but he dislikes feeling babied. He would have been able to do the report on his own. “You aren't watching her directly.”
“She deserves privacy. I have alerts on her windows and the door but no active cameras. I couldn't explain that to her, unfortunately. We've only been able to communicate with her via direct pantomime and implied orders.”
Damian had let David Cain lead all too much of the conversation, in retrospect, and the Business Communications class that was slightly less annoying than the rest of his required coursework had several things to say about why that had been unwise. Fatigue from skimping on sleep the previous night to prepare for his exams is no excuse. “David Cain was oddly informative and I believe he will speak with me if I encounter him again. He also said that the girl has a half-brother named Mad Dog that cannot be controlled. He implied that the League of Assassins counts this Mad Dog among its roster and that it will want to regain custody of the girl as she is a superior option.”
“Hm. I suppose we'll need to think of a good reason they can't regain custody, then, because I won't send her back and won't subject an unknowing family to the League of Assassins' attempts to reclaim her.”
Damian sighs. “I imagine you'll be talking to Ms. Fleming in the morning.”
His father nods. “I've sent her an email.”
Damian doesn't want to begin to think about how his father plans to gain custody of a murder suspect who may not be able to communicate. The girl seems far more suited to Batman's care than Bruce Wayne's and that seems like just the kind of public connection his father has avoided for years.
“I suppose we can discuss strategy in the morning, then. I'll work on finishing my report upstairs.”
His father hums approval before turning back to his work. Damian grabs his laptop and a hoodie and decides to change upstairs. Alfred doesn't emerge from his suite of rooms to chide Damian for the ill-hidden outfit outside of the cave so Damian makes it to his room without anyone the wiser. When he walks past the girl's chosen bedroom, the security camera aimed at her door is in working order and he can't hear anything from inside.
Damian sets up his laptop before readying his shower. The inset video of the closed door will be a little reassurance when he's ready to work again. His father seems all too inclined to trust the child based on her appearance but Damian knows that not all children want to leave the League of Assassins behind.