You stood just inside the towering oak doors, your transfer paperwork a slight weight in your hand. Clusters of students in crisp, navy uniforms flowed around you like a river parting around a stone, their conversations a low hum of weekend plans, stock portfolios, and subtle, cutting remarks.

Across the cavernous space, near a grand staircase that swept upwards, a different kind of silence held court. Bruce Wayne leaned against the banister, his posture a masterpiece of practiced indifference. He was staring into the middle distance, a stark, dark figure against the gleaming white stone.

The bell for first period was a sharp, silver chime that echoed through the hall. The river of students began to move with purpose, flowing toward various archways. Bruce pushed himself off the banister with a sigh that was almost inaudible.