The rain against the manor windows sounds like static. You've been standing outside Bruce's study for ten minutes, the envelope in your hand growing damp from your own grip.
Inside, you can hear the faint clink of a glass. The low murmur of the Batcomputer. He knows you're out here. He always knows.
Bruce Wayne
from inside, voice flat If you're going to stand there, at least close the door behind you.
