Batman Legacy
Copyright© 2025 by Uruks
Chapter 10: Revelations
Action/Adventure Story: Chapter 10: Revelations - The origin story of Batman meant to capture the grit and spirit of the comics. This is just a fanfiction and is not meant for commercial use. While I do my best to honor the original story of Batman, I admit that it has my personal flair in it that you may notice if you're familiar with my work. I used AI to help me refine the book, but the dialogue, plot, and tone are all mine. I've always loved Batman and wanted to write my own fanfic that includes Gotham's full story and his legend. Enjoy.
Caution: This Action/Adventure Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic Heterosexual Crime Fan Fiction Superhero Science Fiction
Batcave – Morning
The hum of computers echoed softly through the cavernous space. Screens glowed in the dim, blue light. Shadows danced across stone walls older than the city above.
Barbara Gordon stirred. Her eyes blinked open, groggy and confused. The last thing she remembered was the fight—the smoke, the flames, the man’s hands around her throat...
Now she was lying on a plush medical cot, a blanket draped over her, soft bandages wrapped carefully around her neck and her waist. She groaned as she rubbed her tender spots. She felt her face, realizing that her mask was gone. She might’ve been more alarmed by that if not for her present circumstances. Her head was spinning, but not just from pain—from awe.
She sat up slowly, drinking in her surroundings. The lair stretched endlessly—an impossible fusion of raw earth and cutting-edge technology. Walkways and platforms crisscrossed shadowed chasms, cables snaking along walls like living veins. A massive computer bank blinked with countless screens, each streaming a torrent of data she couldn’t hope to process.
Shelves bristled with gadgets—Batarangs of every shape, polished grappling hooks, smoke pellets, explosives—tools for every imaginable contingency. Above, swarms of bats occasionally erupted into motion, their high-pitched screeches echoing through the cavern before vanishing again into darkness. The entire space hummed with a tense energy, part danger, part promise—a fortress alive with secrets.
Barbara’s mouth dropped open. Where the hell am I...?
“Good. You’re awake. Sorry it’s so dark. Al thought it best to bring you into the cave in case someone showed up at the manor.
She turned sharply. Dick Grayson, wearing simple white t-shirt and army pants, stood at the edge of her cot, arms crossed, smiling with a mix of relief and mischief.
Barbara blinked. “Dick...?”
He walked toward a nearby table, picked up something dark and familiar—something she’d seen in headlines, on rooftops, in motion. The Robin Mask.
He held it up to his face with a mock flourish. “Surprise.”
Barbara stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “No way,” she breathed.
He grinned. “Way.”
“You’re... Robin?”
“I was hoping the gymnastics gave it away,” he said, pretending to flex. “Guess I’m just that good at blending in.”
Barbara remained incredulous. “You can’t be Robin! Robin’s cool, and you’re the most awkward boy I’ve ever met!”
“Hey!” he said, hands on hips. “I was debonair at that charity dance.”
She squinted at him. “You tripped over your own feet.”
He groaned as he held up a finger. “One time.”
Before their banter could continue, a dignified voice floated in from behind. “I see the young lady is regaining her faculties. A very welcome development.”
Alfred Pennyworth appeared with a silver tray in hand, a teapot and china cups balanced effortlessly upon it.
Barbara’s eyes went wide again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Alfred gave a polite bow. “Miss Gordon, I am delighted to see you recovering well. Might I interest you in some tea and crumpets?”
She accepted the teacup numbly. And then—things started clicking. Dick Grayson, adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Alfred, Wayne’s personal butler. And this? This had to be the Batcave. Her fingers tightened slightly on the cup.
Her breath hitched. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Bruce Wayne is Batman.”
Dick leaned against a terminal and gave her the world’s most unhelpful smirk. “Duh.”
The Emerald Conservatory – Morning
The sun had begun to rise over the broken garden. Emergency crews moved quickly through the wreckage. Medics tended to disoriented scientists and technicians. GCPD officers swept the area, collecting what evidence they could from Ivy’s abandoned hideout.
And in the middle of it all, Lucius Fox embraced his wife and son, holding them as if the world itself might tear them away should he loosen his grip. His arms wrapped around them with a desperate strength, his cheek pressed against theirs, the three of them clinging together in a moment of fragile, unshakable humanity amid the chaos.
Batman watched from above, perched in shadow on a ruined balcony. He saw Lucius bury his face in his wife’s shoulder, noted Luke laughing through tears of joy, heard their quiet sobs carried faintly on the breeze. Despite the heaviness of the battle, a twinge of contentment resounded through him. Everyone was safe in body and mind. All but one. Batman turned.
Selina stood on the far edge of the roof, her back rigid, her mask dangling loosely at her side. The wind teased at her short dark hair, pulling strands across her face she didn’t bother to brush away. Her arms crossed tight against her chest, her whole body wound like a coil ready to snap.
Bruce approached slowly, carefully, as one might approach a wounded predator. His voice was soft, uncertain. “Selina...”
She didn’t turn.
“I didn’t choose her,” he said, low, almost pleading. “She used pheromones. Mind control. I fought it, but—I wasn’t strong enough.”
The silence between them stretched like a blade at his throat.
“I need you to believe me,” he pressed on. “She captured me, and then she kissed me. There’s ... some kind of power in it. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t stop myself.”
At last Selina’s voice came, quiet but edged, like glass ground underfoot. “I know.”
He blinked, startled. For a moment, fragile hope flickered inside him. Maybe—just maybe—their bond could survive this.
She spoke again, still without turning. “I saw what she did to the others. I felt her power when she kissed me.”
Bruce exhaled—relief mixed with dread in equal measure. “Then ... you know I didn’t want any of it.”
Finally, she turned to face him. Her expression was carved from stone, her eyes glimmering but cold. “Of course I know.”
That should have been enough. A reprieve. A second chance. But the air between them didn’t soften. Something in her gaze remained distant, something in her posture remained braced, as if she were already halfway gone.
“Then ... what is this?” His confusion bled into desperation. “Why do I still feel like I’m losing you?”
Selina gave a small shrug, but her eyes never left his. “Maybe this was always a bad idea.”
The words hit like a gut punch. “What?”
She turned away, looking out at the jagged skyline as if Gotham itself were easier to face than him. Her voice was smooth, too smooth, rehearsed. “I mean, let’s face it. A thief and a crusader playing house? It was cute in theory. Fun, even. But it was never built to last.”
His chest tightened. “You don’t mean that.”
Her lips curved into a crooked smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, brittle and bitter. “Don’t I?”
He took a step closer, but she retreated just as quickly, holding the distance between them like a weapon. “Selina...”
She shook her head, not in anger but in resignation. Her voice dropped, quiet but final. “I don’t want to fight, Bruce. I don’t want to talk this into the ground. I just want to go.”
The words hollowed him. He hadn’t thought he could feel heartbreak that rivaled losing Rachel, but this ... this carved him open all over again.
Selina turned from him, her shoulders straight and her movements deliberate, like someone walking away from a grave. “I’ll have my things out of the manor by tomorrow.”
She slid the mask back over her face, sealing herself behind the armor of Catwoman. No quip. No teasing jab to soften the blow. Just silence.
And then she leapt into the morning fog, vanishing into it like she’d never been there at all, leaving him alone on the rooftop with nothing but the weight of her absence—and the gnawing ache of something he hadn’t realized he was losing until it was already gone.
An hour later...
The Batcave was quiet. The kind of quiet that came not from peace, but from the weight of things left unsaid. Even the roar of the Batmobile breaking through the waterfall sounded muted somehow.
Batman rose from the sliding doors of his vehicle and descended the cave steps slowly. His cape cascaded over his arms, shoulders hunched—not from exhaustion, but from something heavier. Defeat.
Dick Grayson and Alfred were waiting near the central platform. At the sight of him, they both straightened—relieved, grateful.
“Bruce,” Alfred said warmly. “Thank heavens. We were beginning to worry.”
“You alright, boss?” Dick added. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
Bruce didn’t stop walking. He passed them both with only a curt nod. “Never better,” came his flat reply.
They exchanged a glance.
He moved to the console and dropped into his chair like a man made of stone, eyes dim behind the cowl. With a huff, he removed his mask, letting it fall aimlessly to the floor.
Dick took a step forward, concern bubbling. “Where’s Selina?”
Bruce didn’t look up, though his answer landed like a hammer. “She’s fine ... but she’s not coming back.”
The words landed with the thud of a tombstone. Dick opened his mouth, hesitated. “What ... what happened?”
Bruce looked up then. The look in his eyes stopped Dick cold. A storm of rage and pain swirled just beneath the surface. His eyes said it all without him having to utter a word. Don’t ... ask!
The silence that followed was thick and jagged. Bruce slumped back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Dick stood there for a beat, biting the inside of his cheek, wrestling with something. He turned to Alfred. The old man gave him a silent nod. Dick cleared his throat and took a deep breath.
“Listen, Bruce. I know this ... this really isn’t the best time, but there’s something you need to know. Please—just hear me out before you get mad.”
Bruce didn’t move. “What is it?” he asked coldly.
Dick gave a pained smile. “Okay. Just ... please don’t hit me.”
Now Bruce was getting impatient. “Out with it, Dick!”
Dick flinched back ever so slightly, then turned to Alfred. Bruce watched in confusion and annoyance as his butler turned and disappeared into the corridor.
Bruce frowned. “What is this? What’s going on?”
When Alfred returned, he wasn’t alone. Behind him, stepping hesitantly into the blue glow of the cave, was Barbara Gordon. Her Batgirl suit gleamed faintly in the low light, her cape brushing the floor. Her eyes were wide, heart hammering.
“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” she said softly. Then, awkwardly, “Or ... um ... Batman.”
Bruce stood up, thunderstruck. He stared wide-eyed at her like she was a ghost.
Barbara gave a sheepish wave, offering a tentative, nervous smile. “ ... Surprise.”
Meanwhile at Selina’s Residence...
The morning sun peeked through the drawn curtains, cutting pale streaks across the floor, but Selina’s apartment remained cloaked in shadow, mirroring the heaviness that weighed on her chest. The space felt emptier than usual—bare walls and sparse furniture marking the absence of the life she had begun moving into Bruce’s mansion. A few half-packed boxes lingered here and there, their contents a silent testament to plans left unfinished.
Her cats wound themselves around her feet, rubbing and purring insistently, seeking attention she could not summon. She sat on the couch, still clad in her Catwoman suit, unmasked and exposed for the first time in hours. Her boots and gloves were gone; the mask lay discarded on the floor, abandoned without a thought.
A flicker of humor passed through her mind, fleeting and bitter—Alfred, no doubt, could finally breathe easy, no longer obligated to care for her attention-hungry pets. She ignored the soft mews pressing against her ankles, letting them brush past like whispers she could not answer. Her eyes fixed on nothing, staring into the void of the room, the quiet as heavy as her own heart.
A single tear traced a slow, shimmering line down her cheek, catching the morning light as it fell, and she made no move to wipe it away.
A scoff escaped her lips, sharp and bitter. Resentful.
“Pathetic,” she muttered, shaking her head as she hunched forward on the edge of the couch, brushing the lone tear from her cheek.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. What was I thinking? Love? Forever? What a joke! The thought felt like a knife twisting in her chest.
She laughed once, harsh and hollow, the sound echoing faintly against the bare walls. Rising to her feet, she stalked to the bathroom, her boots left behind in the shadows, and faced herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back—Catwoman, unmasked, vulnerable, yet stubbornly defiant.
“You’re Catwoman,” she whispered, voice trembling at first, then firming with each word. “So pull yourself together. You don’t need anyone. Least of all a brooding sob story in a cape.”
Her lips quivered at that last part despite her best effort, teeth grinding as she swallowed the swell of foolish emotions she refused to name. She reached across the counter for her phone, fingers brushing against cold ceramic as if steadying herself. A few quick swipes, and the contact appeared: Wildcat. She hit “call,” the simple act a tether to the one person who could anchor her in the storm.
The line rang twice before a warm, familiar voice answered, rich and teasing. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite felon. Hi, Kitten. It’s been a while—I was starting to think you went domestic.”
Selina forced a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “I need a job.”
A pause, and the warmth in his voice dimmed, concern threading through the playful tone. “No purring? No clever quips? Not even a ‘hello, my old mentor’? Something tells me this isn’t just about money.”
Her gaze fell to the floor, jaw trembling for half a heartbeat before she turned away from the mirror, clutching the phone tighter. Her voice was almost a whisper, fragile yet resolute.
“Daddy ... please don’t ask.”
The line held its silence, the quiet stretching like a drawn-out breath.
Finally, his voice returned, softer now, understanding layered between the words. “ ... Alright. I won’t.”
Selina exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly. The apartment remained dim, the morning sun still failing to reach her, but for the first time in hours, she felt a small, flickering spark of control. A reminder: she was still Catwoman. Still hers.
Meanwhile, back in the Batcave...
“What is this?” Bruce said quietly, his voice low but edged with steel. The cavernous space seemed to contract around him, shadows deepening as if the very walls were waiting for an answer.
No one spoke. Barbara’s nervous smile wavered and slowly faded, her hands returning to her sides. Alfred’s calm composure remained, but his brow furrowed ever so slightly, a shadow of concern passing over his lined face.
Bruce’s voice rose, cutting through the hum of computers and the faint, skittering rustle of bats in the rafters. “What the hell is this?!”
Barbara flinched at the sharpness, curling slightly in on herself. Alfred placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, giving her a small, silent reassurance—but even he could not soften the tension that filled the room.
Bruce’s gaze darted between them like a predator sizing up prey. Then it landed on Dick, who shifted uneasily under the weight of the glare, as if trying to disappear into the shadows.
“You brought Commissioner Gordon’s daughter—into the Batcave?!” His voice thundered across the cavern, bouncing off the stone like a warning shot fired into the stillness.
He advanced on Dick, every measured step echoing, fire smoldering behind his eyes. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”
Dick’s jaw tightened. He met Bruce’s gaze, but just barely. “Bruce—”
“She’s a civilian! She’s the daughter of Gotham’s top cop! If he knew what we were doing here, he’d put out a warrant so fast—”
“He won’t,” Dick interjected, his voice hesitant but firm. “She’s not gonna tell him—”
“That’s not the point!” Bruce roared as he slammed a gauntleted fist onto the console table. The sound reverberated like a cannon shot.
Everyone jumped. Barbara’s shoulders hunched instinctively; she bit her lip, as if trying not to let her fear show, though she looked very near the point of tears as her eyes turned glossy.
Alfred stepped forward, placing himself deliberately between her and Bruce, a living shield of calm. “Master Wayne,” he said, measured but firm. “I understand your frustration. But perhaps not in front of the lady?”
Bruce’s jaw clenched, and for a long moment, his fists shook at his sides, trembling not from weakness but from the weight of his anger. The cavern seemed to hum with it, a low, menacing vibration. Finally, he drew in a deep breath through his nose, letting it hiss between his teeth, and stepped back just enough to release the tension without losing control. His next words were low, deliberate, dangerous.
“Take her back to her father,” he said to Dick, without even glancing at Barbara. “We’ll all pretend this never happened.”
Dick’s mouth opened, then closed. He drew in a long, steadying breath, his chest rising with surprising resolve. “No.”
Bruce’s eyes snapped up sharply.
Dick pushed forward, voice gaining strength. “It’s too late for that.”
Bruce’s brow furrowed, the storm inside him tightening. “Excuse me?”
“She’s already seen the cave,” Dick said, voice rising slightly as he planted his feet firmly, refusing to yield. “She knows everything. She fought beside us—she nearly died trying to save us.”
Bruce leaned forward, teeth clenched, veins tight along his jaw. His fury reignited like a wildfire. “What the hell were you thinking?!”
Dick lifted his chin, shoulders squared despite the tension. “I was thinking ... she should be part of the team.”
A beat of stunned silence fell. Even Barbara looked up at him, eyes wide with shock, the weight of the cave’s secrets settling on her shoulders.
Bruce simply stared, caught between disbelief and simmering rage, a storm gathering behind his cowl. The Batcave itself seemed to hold its breath, the shadows deepening, the echoes of bats’ wings flitting across stone like ghostly witnesses to the confrontation.
Dick Grayson shifted his weight uneasily under the glare of the man who raised him. His hands were fists at his sides, but his knuckles were pale—not from readiness, but from sheer nerve.
“I just think...” Dick began, voice louder as he grew more sure of himself. “You should train her.”
Bruce didn’t move, his eyes narrowed. He wore no mask, but his face might as well have been one for all it gave away. The faint hum of the Batcave surrounded them, making every pause feel heavier.
Dick swallowed hard, but pushed onward. “Train her ... like you trained me.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He said nothing, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to process the absurdity of what he was hearing. His mind raced with every worst-case scenario: every rookie mistake, every exposure, every risk magnified by the presence of someone untested in Gotham’s shadows.
“She’s already out there,” Dick said, voice rising with urgency. “And she’s not gonna stop. You know it, I know it. She’ll keep going with or without us.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, pressing against Bruce’s ribs. Dick took a step closer, desperation threading his tone. “At least this way ... she’ll have training, proper gear, backup. She’ll have a chance of coming home alive.”
Bruce remained a statue, stone-faced, impassive—but his silence spoke volumes.
Dick forced his chin up, finding his courage. “She helped us. With Firefly. She’s not just some kid playing dress-up—she’s got potential!”
Finally, Bruce moved. Slowly. Powerfully. His presence loomed, massive and unyielding, a shadow that swallowed the small patch of platform Dick stood on. The cave seemed to shrink around him, the lights flickering across the walls like lightning.
“That,” Bruce said, his voice low and rolling like distant thunder. “Is not your decision to make.”
Dick faltered, chest tightening as the weight of the words pressed down.
“You don’t get to act arbitrarily,” Bruce growled, each word punctuated with controlled fury. “Not when all our lives are on the line.”
“I wasn’t trying to—!” Dick began.
“You didn’t consult me.” Bruce’s voice rose from raw calculation and exasperation intertwined. “You went behind my back. You exposed the cave. You endangered all of us by—”
“I just wanted to help her!” Dick snapped, his own anger rising, the words bouncing off consoles, echoing into the shadows above.
Before the clash could erupt further, Barbara stepped forward, moving quietly but with an authority that stopped everything in its tracks. The tension in the cavern seemed to drain away, sucked into the gravity of her presence.
When she spoke, her voice carried a calm clarity that neither man could summon on their own.
“I’m sorry,” she said, soft but resolute. “For all the trouble I caused.”
Bruce didn’t respond. He only watched her, silent, contained, waiting.
“I didn’t think it through,” she continued, meeting his gaze with earnest eyes. “Not the consequences. Not what I was asking of you.”
Her words were simple, but they hit with a weight that neither threats nor arguments could match. “You’re right. This puts you in a terrible position. Friend or not ... my dad would blow a gasket if he ever knew.”
A faint, dry smile touched her lips. “You and he aren’t so different, you know. The whole... ‘protecting people from themselves’ thing. Especially when it comes to young idiots like me.”
Dick glanced at her, startled by the ease and grace in her posture, the way she spoke truth without losing humility or courage. Barbara’s attention flicked to Alfred next, and she gave him a subtle nod.
“Thank you for taking care of me, Mr. Pennyworth.”
Then, shifting her gaze to Dick, she offered a quiet sincerity. “And thank you. Really. For everything.”
Finally, her eyes returned to Bruce. She didn’t ask. She didn’t plead. She simply stated. “I’m not asking for anything. If you don’t want me involved here, I’ll go. I won’t say a word about any of this. Your secret is safe.”
Bruce’s eyes stayed locked on her, unreadable, but she pressed on, her voice gaining a steady determination. “But Dick’s right about one thing ... this isn’t something I can walk away from. Not anymore.”
She stepped back slowly, shoulders squared, her gaze unwavering. “I have to do this. Even if you don’t train me ... even if it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Even if I get knocked down a hundred times. I know I can help. I have to help.”
Her voice trembled only slightly—not from fear, but from the sincerity that ran through every word. “I saw what you did out there. What all of you do.” She drew a breath, letting the words settle. “And ... you made me want to be better.”
Her gaze locked onto his again, unwavering and full of admiration, of unspoken feeling. “You helped me find my way. Thank you. That’s a debt I can never repay.”
Then, with a final, deliberate glance, she turned. Her boots clicked softly against the stone floor as she walked slowly toward the long, shadowed tunnel that led out of the Batcave, leaving Bruce and Dick suspended in the echo of her words.
Bruce said nothing at first. The soft echo of Barbara’s boots faded into the cavernous dark, almost swallowed by the shadows. She was nearly out of sight when his voice came at last—low, tired, and edged with something she hadn’t expected.
“ ... Wait.”
She froze in the cave entrance, half-expecting another outburst, another storm of anger. But when she turned, she saw him ascending the steps toward her slowly, cape trailing behind like a shadow. His face was striking, chiseled and dark, the stormy blue of his eyes almost hypnotic. Without the mask, without the cowl, his presence was ... human. She tried not to blush.
He stopped a few feet away, voice neutral but firm. “It’ll be faster in the Batmobile. And you’ll need to change your clothes, hide your injuries. Your father’s probably worried sick by now.”
She nodded, words catching in her throat.
“You’ll need a believable story,” he added. “Something that explains your absence without raising suspicion.”
“I—I can think of something,” she stammered. “I told him last night I was going to my friend Amy’s. I could probably get her to play along if I asked.”
He gave the faintest nod. Then, after a pause, almost reluctantly, “ ... Be here tomorrow.”
Barbara blinked. “What?”
“For training. And proper gear.” His tone sharpened, professional, undeniably Batman. “Come up with a regular excuse. School project. Volunteer work. Anything plausible.”
It took a second to register. Then her face lit up like sunrise. “Y-yes. Of course. Absolutely.”
Before he could react, she threw her arms around him, tight and unrestrained. He stood stiff, surprised, feeling the weight of her excitement. Then, before letting go, she kissed his cheek.
Bruce’s jaw twitched—caught somewhere between irritation and bemusement.
“I—sorry,” she murmured, stepping back. “Thank you ... sir.”
He gave her a look. Not quite a glare, but sharp enough to command attention.
Dick, leaning against a console, grinned and sauntered over. “I’ll escort our new recruit,” he said, winking at Barbara. “Batmobile’s fueled up and ready.”
Barbara beamed as she followed after Dick. Bruce said nothing, just watched them go.
Dick rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “So ... think I could get a kiss too?”
“What?” Barbara said, too excited to process.
“What? I didn’t say anything,” Dick added quickly, hands raised in mock innocence.
As they walked toward the platform, Barbara practically bounced with excitement. “I can’t believe it ... I’m gonna be trained by Batman!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dick muttered, folding his arms with a mock sulk. “Big moment. Got it.”
She turned and grinned at him, eyes sparkling.
“So... ‘Batgirl,’ huh?” he teased.
“Yeah. So?” she shot back, defensively.
“Why not Robin Girl?” he said with a pout. “Or Night Lass? Something original.”
Barbara burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the cavern walls. “Oh my god, I was right. You really are the most awkward boy I’ve ever met.”
Dick rolled his eyes but smiled, amusement tugging at his lips as the platform lifted them toward the Batmobile bay, the cavern fading behind them in shadow and light.
Downtown Gotham – Early Evening
The Gotham skyline shimmered under the humid night, towers jutting like jagged silver fangs beneath the moon.
Catwoman crouched atop a stone gargoyle, binoculars pressed to her eyes, the lenses casting a soft green glow over the rooftop below. Her target came into focus: a high-end jewelry exchange squeezed between two banks, its security systems state-of-the-art, but not Catwoman-proof. She smirked, thinking of the big score, the diamonds, and the clarity a clean job would bring. Her gloved hand slid into her satchel, brushing over the glass cutter, claws, smoke pellets, and EMP. Clean in. Clean out.
She was about to leap in when soft footfalls echoed on the roof tiles behind her. Her body stiffened, jaw clenching. She didn’t turn. A slow breath, steady and focused, centered her. If it was him, let him try to stop her.
Let him chase me. Let it be like it used to be—no more kisses, no more regrets.
The voice that followed wasn’t gravel, wasn’t guilt. It was silk. European, smooth, wry. “Well, well. Just about to start without me, Kitten?”
Her eyes widened beneath the goggles as she spun toward the sound. A few feet away stood Francis Kyle, the man formerly known as Wildcat. He was the picture of elegance, his fitted gray jacket and black gloves precise, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back with effortless charm. His eyes were sharp, calculating, mischievous. Older, yes, but far from slow. He moved like a whisper, like a shadow.
Selina lowered her binoculars, assessing her father with both wariness and curiosity. “Dad?”
He gave her a crooked grin, the kind that hinted at old mischief and secrets best left unspoken.
“Been a while since we’ve had a proper chat. Face to face,” he said, voice carrying just enough warmth to unsettle her.
She turned fully to face him, arms crossed over her chest, posture stiff but not unkind. “Okay,” she said, her tone sharp, wary. “Why are you really here? What, do you think I’ve gotten rusty or something, and you just wanna make sure I don’t blow it?”
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