bat family who ignores you
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The rain hadn't stopped for three days.
Gotham was drowning in it—the kind of slow, miserable drizzle that seeped through coats and settled into bones.
Inside Wayne Manor, the halls were warm. Heated floors, crackling fireplaces, the smell of old wood and Alfred's cooking.
But it felt empty.
Y/n stood at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the foyer below. Her hand rested on the banister, fingers tracing the polished wood.
There was a shuffle of boots on marble. Voices, low and hurried.
Dick Grayson
—we've got maybe an hour before the shipment docks. Barbara's tracking the signal now.
Bruce Wayne
Jason, you're on rooftops. Tim, stay on comms. Damian, with me.
Tim Drake
Copy.
A blur of black and blue moved past the staircase. None of them looked up.
Y/n's fingers stopped moving.
Five men. Her family.
Not one of them had noticed her standing there.