Harvey’s hand was clenched hard around Bruce’s arm, and his jaw was set. With a jolt of guilt, Bruce realized that Harvey must be familiar with scenes like this. But when he looked at his friend, Harvey shook his head once. “I know,” he just said. “Deep breaths. I know.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dianne was murmuring in his ear as she held his other arm.
Bruce stopped struggling and stared back at where Richard was still holding his injured nose and looking at Bruce with eyes full of loathing. Bruce’s heart hammered wildly in his chest, Richard’s final sentences whirling in his head. The world felt like a muffled vacuum, and he was on the other side of the glass, looking in at a friendship that had now completely fallen apart.
On the ground, Richard slowly pushed himself to his feet. His sleeve was ruined with blood from his nose, but to Bruce’s surprise, there was a slight smile on the boy’s lips, some darkly satisfied expression. “You’re going to regret that,” Richard said. Before Bruce could respond, Richard turned his back and walked away.
Both Draccon and Dr. James noticed Bruce’s unusual silence at Arkham the next day, saw the healing bruise on his knuckles. To his relief, though, they’d chosen not to bring it up.
News of the fight had spread swiftly through the grapevine. And instead of the incident fading away like it would for a normal person, Bruce had no doubt some tabloid somewhere was printing a blurry photo submitted by a student standing nearby where it had happened, pairing it with a headline that made Bruce look bad. He was steering clear of glancing at any papers today.
As Bruce walked toward the detective and warden in the cafeteria, he overheard a few words of what Draccon was saying to James. “…that there’s something wrong with that girl…no, still not even so much as a peep…she knows, I know she knows, she’s worked directly with the Nightwalkers’ boss before, probably even as a close hand…they’re targeting all of Bellingham Industries’ holdings, banks, factories…they’ll go for the rest soon…I tell you, I’ve cracked a lot of people in my time, but she…”
They’re talking about Madeleine. Maybe Draccon had been down there just this morning to interrogate her again, clearly with no success.
Draccon’s gaze flickered to him as he approached the table; James turned in her chair to glance up at him, her hazel eyes flashing, and their conversation cut off.
“Detective,” Bruce said, sitting down to join them. “Dr. James.”
“Afternoon, Bruce,” Draccon said, returning to nurse her coffee.
Bruce’s encounter with Madeleine lingered in his mind. He knew it was only a matter of time before they saw the footage of it from the security cams and asked him about it. He cleared his throat. “I—” he started, trying to figure out the best way to tell them about what had happened. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying, Detective. It’s about that girl again, isn’t it?”
Draccon frowned as if Bruce were accusing her of doing a poor job. But then she sighed and lifted her coffee to her lips again. “The girl still won’t talk,” she grumbled. “Today makes exactly four months she’s been in detention, and she hasn’t said a single word to anybody.”
“Yes, she has,” Bruce said.
Draccon raised her eyebrow at him over her cup while James picked at her teeth. “You mean in your dreams, Wayne?” the warden said. “I think she’s out of your league, little boy.”
Bruce shot a withering look at James but went on as Draccon sipped her coffee. “She knew who I was. She told me her name was Madeleine.”
Draccon choked on her coffee. Brown liquid splashed out of her cup as she slammed it down on the table and sputtered. Bruce waited for her to recover. When she finally did, gasping and wheezing, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and then shot him a venomous glare. “You’ve been digging around in files,” she snapped, her voice still hoarse. “Where have you been sneaking around?”
“I haven’t,” Bruce replied.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“You don’t think I could make up a better lie than that? I would’ve told you she said something way more interesting than just a name.”
“How’d you know her name is Madeleine? From one of the inmates?” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Because I certainly didn’t tell you.”
“She told me. She said it to me last week, when I was cleaning down there.”
James was looking at him with suspicious eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
“Check the security tapes,” Bruce replied.
“You giving me attitude?”
“Calm down, both of you,” Draccon said, holding out her palms at him. “Bruce, walk me through your entire conversation. She didn’t just blurt out her name for no reason.”
“I see you and other officers in her cell often,” he replied. “Interrogating her. But last week she was alone, and she noticed me glancing at her cell. She said, ‘You’re Bruce Wayne.’?” He paused for a second, sure that Draccon would interrupt him, but the detective stayed silent, willing him on. “So I said yes. She told me that I was definitely not the usual crowd around here and then told me her name.”
A strange light had entered Draccon’s eyes, like she had realized something that Bruce didn’t quite understand.
“Maybe she likes you because you’re her age,” James mused.
“Maybe she likes you because she knows you’re a brand-new billionaire,” Draccon added. She considered Bruce for a moment longer before rising from her seat. Whatever schedule she’d originally had for the day seemed forgotten now as she focused her attention on him. “Fine,” she said. “You want to know more about this girl?”
“Anything I’m allowed to know.”
Draccon gestured toward the cafeteria door. “Come with me to the precinct.”
—
Steady rain was pouring outside by the time they arrived, painting everything in a gray haze. Through the fogged windows of Draccon’s office at the police department’s downtown precinct, Bruce could barely make out the lights of Gotham City’s independent theater shining through the wetness. He looked away only when Draccon stepped back into the office, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee and a thick manila folder tucked under one arm.
She placed a mug in front of Bruce, then dropped the folder onto the table between them with a thud. “Her name’s Madeleine Wallace,” Draccon began. “She’s eighteen.”
Eighteen. She could have been at his graduation, laden in medals and leis. “That’s it?” Bruce replied.