She’s in there for a good reason.
But she was so young. Decades younger than everyone else in here. Bruce frowned as he watched her, waiting for something, anything—a violent tantrum, an insult—to reveal a clue about why everyone found her so threatening that they locked her up down here. His gaze returned to the new shape she was folding with her napkin. It looked like an unfinished lion. He wondered what it would transform into when she was done with it.
As he looked on, she glanced up at the door. At him.
Again, her look caught him off guard. This time Bruce forced himself not to jerk away. He walked toward her door’s window and stopped right in front of it.
She stared at him for a long moment. Of course she wouldn’t speak, Bruce reminded himself. She had been in here for weeks, at least, maybe even months, and hadn’t uttered a single word. How much longer would Draccon try to get something out of her? What exactly did they want to hear from her, anyway? If—
“You’re Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce stilled.
Did he just hear her speak? And not just that. She recognized him. The sound of her voice surprised him so much that, for an instant, he couldn’t move. She was soft-spoken, but her words rang clear as a bell. Lovely. Soothing, even.
“Guilty,” he finally replied. He wondered if she could hear him.
There was another pause, but the girl never turned her stare away. Instead, she continued to look at him in her calm, quiet manner, barely blinking, her eyes dark pools set against white marble. Finally, one edge of her lips tilted up by a hair. “You’re different from the regular crowd.”
Keep her talking. “Could say the same about you,” he managed.
She put her lion-shaped napkin aside. “Who has the nerve to hit a billionaire?”
Bruce blinked, his hand rubbing instinctively at his jaw. She was talking about his bruise now. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled.
She pressed her lips together. “Hmm. Someone close to you, I bet, someone who knows you well.” She tilted her head to one side, and her hair spilled over her shoulders in a river of midnight. There was something about her movements that made him think of a dancer, all grace and cunning, like she was aware of him watching her every gesture. “Everyone has their enemies. But look at your eyes—so tight and frustrated. Whoever did it is still on your mind.”
Bruce didn’t answer. There was something unnerving about the way she was studying him, splitting the puzzle of him into smaller pieces as she went.
At his silence, a glint appeared in her eyes. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? You like to understand why things happen, to solve the mystery and put it into neat little boxes—but you haven’t figured this one out yet.”
His mind spun, trying to find the right category for her.
She sighed. “I can see your problem.”
“And what’s that?” Bruce said, finally finding his voice.
“You hold back. Poor bleeding heart, always wanting to give a second chance.” She was analyzing him with a look that burned him to his core. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t hold back, of course.”
Bruce frowned, mesmerized by her strange words. Don’t hold back. In the span of thirty seconds, this girl had him down cold. How did she know? How could she speak as if she could hear all the thoughts churning in his mind?
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Madeleine.”
Madeleine.
Bruce was pretty sure he had just heard more from her in the past minute than anyone else here ever had. He waited, thinking that she might say something more. But the girl just put her hands behind her head and arched her back, stretching herself out languidly until he could see the sharp divide between her ribs and her stomach under her suit. She settled, crossing her legs.
“Why are you in here?” he called out, hoping she would respond. But she stayed quiet. Whatever had possessed her to speak to him, however little, had clearly disappeared, there and gone so quickly that he thought perhaps he’d imagined it.
He lingered for a bit, just in case, but when she stayed silent, he turned away and left her alone, the ghost of her voice still lingering in his thoughts, bringing with it more questions than answers.
Graduation day.
Hats went flying in the air, and cheers rang out from the crowd of students seated on the expansive green lawns of the academy grounds.
Bruce stood with Alfred and Lucius, smiling along as they congratulated him, making the right gestures—handshakes, hugs, attempts to shake off the mound of leis and medals Alfred kept looping around his neck. He’d been looking forward to the end of high school, had been counting down the days with Dianne and Harvey.
It was supposed to be the most momentous day of his life.
But his mind was distracted as he glanced around the quad. Madeleine’s words still echoed in his memory.
You’re different from the regular crowd.
Even now, he could hear her voice speaking clearly in his thoughts, as if she stood before him, secured behind glass. She knew who he was, had clearly been paying attention to him for as long as he’d been paying attention to her. Why did she bother?
“Bruce.”
Bruce forced his thoughts to return to Lucius, who was talking to him. “Let’s plan to do this sooner rather than later, shall we?” The man patted him on his shoulder. “A proper demonstration of the drones we’re working on. The Wayne Foundation is hosting a huge charity gala to show them in action.” He tugged once at his sports jacket. “Some important folks on that RSVP list—the council, Metropolis officials, the Luthors….Everyone’s interested in what we’re building, Bruce.” Lucius nodded off in the distance at a man with several police officers around him. “Including the mayor.”
Bruce tensed. If the mayor was nearby, then it probably meant Richard was, too.
Dianne and Harvey came over, each of them completely laden with their own shares of leis and medals. Dianne caught sight of Bruce’s stare, then took off one of her medals and draped it around his neck. “You’re supposed to wear these, Bruce,” she said to him with a smile. “See? Harvey’s setting a good example.”
“Hi, sir,” Harvey said to Alfred, shaking his hand and then Lucius’s in a formal gesture that sent his medals clinking. He seemed uncomfortable here, where everyone’s family had shown up except for his father. It made Bruce step protectively to his friend’s side. “You both must be proud of Bruce.”
“As I am of you,” Alfred said, smiling, and offered Harvey a kind wink. “Well done, Mr. Dent.”
Dianne touched Harvey’s arm and started pulling him away. Behind her stood a huge crowd of family members, all cheering uproariously about something. They waved her over. “Come on, Harvey, Bruce….My fam’s dying to see you guys.”