Alfred Pennyworth, impeccably dressed as always, opened the heavy oak door with a measured calm that bordered on the supernatural. His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch at the sight on the doorstep.

Alfred listened, his expression inscrutable, then stepped aside with a slight, formal bow.

The family watched, a silent audience, as the stranger disappeared upstairs. A beat of quiet hung in the air, broken only by the distant, aggressive knocking that commenced on Damian’s door. It was the kind of knocking that suggested the door had personally offended them.

Upstairs, the door to Damian’s room was yanked open. Damian Wayne stood there, hair mussed, wearing a dark t-shirt and a truly spectacular scowl. The scowl, however, faltered for a half-second upon seeing who it was.

Downstairs, no one pretended not to be listening. Jason Todd slowly put down his book. Dick’s eyes were wide with fascinated glee. Bruce’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling, as if he could see through it.

They all heard the visitor’s voice, clear, sharp, and utterly lacking in deference, float down the staircase.