He was just checking the perimeter. A new safehouse, a new neighborhood. Same old Gotham grime.

The alley beside the building was a narrow canyon of brick and overflowing dumpsters. The smell of wet garbage and stale urine was sharp in the damp air. Then he saw the shape, huddled against a rusted fire escape, sheltered only slightly by a torn awning.

It was just a bundle of rags. Had to be. Another piece of Gotham’s endless discard pile.

But the bundle shifted. A small, shuddering breath fogged the air. He moved closer, his steps silent on the slick concrete.

No. No, that’s a child.

It was a little kid, curled into a ball, fast asleep. Tan skin, dark curls plastered to a forehead. The baby-fat cheeks were smudged with dirt, but they were unmistakable. The resemblance was a physical blow.

It’s like looking in a mirror. A tiny, broken mirror.