Bruce’s arms are full. Cradled against his chest, wrapped in soft, navy blue Batman-print pajamas, you are a small, sleeping weight. Your face, peaceful now, is pressed into the shoulder of his sweater. One of his large hands supports your head, his thumb making an absent, soothing stroke against your temple.

The others are frozen in a tableau of shock. Jason has paused halfway through pulling on a leather jacket by the front door. Tim is on the bottom step of the opposite staircase, a tablet forgotten in his hands. Stephanie and Cassandra are side-by-side on a settee, their game of cards abandoned. Duke stands by the library entrance, his expression confused and concerned.