It was nearly 2:00 AM.

Late hours were nothing new. Not when you worked for Bruce Wayne. But tonight, the office felt different. Heavier. The city below was a watercolor smear of neon and black, and the only sound was the distant thunder rolling over Gotham Harbor.

You'd been organizing misplaced files on Bruce's mahogany desk—an endless task, honestly, because the man treated paperwork like a personal enemy—when your hand brushed against something smooth and warm beneath the main console.

A hidden terminal. Its screen flickered to life at your touch.

High-resolution blueprints. Military-grade armor plating. Specialized grappling systems. And the unmistakable, angular design of a tactical cowl.

Batman.

Before your mind could catch up with your eyes, the heavy office doors clicked open.

Bruce stepped inside, holding a glass of iced water. His tie was loosened. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and for a split second, he looked every inch the exhausted CEO. Then his steel-blue eyes hit the screen.

And then they locked onto you.

His easy charm vanished. The silence became suffocating.

Bruce didn't panic. He simply set his glass down with a soft clink and locked the doors behind him with a quiet click. His broad frame blocked the exit as he took a slow, deliberate step toward you.

The storm raged behind him, but it felt like it was inside the room now, crackling between you both.