“I can still come into the lab in my spare time,” Bruce suggested, giving Lucius a hopeful look. “Just make sure I’m not the one driving.”
Lucius let out a soft laugh at that. “We’ll figure things out around your new schedule.” He nodded toward a tablet lying between them on the table. “The world’s more dangerous than you give it credit for, Bruce. We’re just trying to watch your back, okay?”
Bruce studied the tablet. It was currently logged in to his bank accounts, accessible only with his fingerprints and a code, showing off the new security technology Lucius and WayneTech had developed. If your accounts are opened suspiciously, say, with the wrong code, Lucius had told him, it’ll send our security network an alert and remotely disable the offending computer in an instant.
Bruce gave Lucius a nod. “Thanks for this,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing all your team’s been up to.”
Lucius’s brown eyes lit up. “Our security drones aren’t ready to patrol Gotham City just yet—although we’ve already successfully pitched our Advanced Defense Armament to Metropolis. They’re going in on a huge buy for us.”
The Advanced Defense Armament project. It was a mission that Lucius and Bruce shared a common passion for—encryption tech to secure Gotham City’s banks just as it secured Bruce’s accounts, drone machines to secure the city’s streets. Technology, on all fronts, to save them. “That’s good. This city needs to be safer,” he said quietly. “We’ll make it happen with this—I’m sure of it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see the news once again showing footage of the Nightwalker. He had killed himself in jail by slashing both his wrists with a smuggled razor the day before detectives were going to interrogate him. The police still had no idea what the Nightwalkers had been up to inside that building—and now, with their only suspect dead, they had lost their biggest lead.
Bruce studied the mug shot on the screen, trying to come to terms with the fact that this man he’d seen alive just two weeks ago was now dead. The thought made his stomach turn. This guy must have been either intensely loyal to or terrified of his boss, whoever that was.
Lucius nodded at the TV. “With Nightwalkers in the streets, it needs to happen sooner rather than later.” A silence lingered between them, the memory of his late parents suddenly heavy in the air, before Lucius finally got to his feet. He walked over to Bruce’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Steady, Bruce,” he said kindly.
Bruce remembered this look from when he would visit WayneTech with his father and listen as Lucius—then a promising intern—gave his father a rundown of new projects he was working on. Now Bruce smiled back at his mentor. “Sorry for the trouble, Lucius.”
Lucius gave him another pat on the shoulder. “Someday I’ll let you in on all the trouble I got into when I was your age.” Then he bid him goodbye and stepped out of the room.
Bruce’s phone dinged. He looked down to see a group text from Harvey and Dianne.
Harvey: hey, so, what’s the official verdict?
Bruce: What else? Guilty.
Harvey: sorry, man. What’s your sentence?
Bruce: Probation for five weeks, and community service.
Harvey: nooooo.
Dianne: that’s like half the summer! and finals and graduation are coming up! Did they say where you have to do it?
Bruce: Not yet.
Harvey didn’t respond to that, but Dianne texted back a string of sad-face emojis. Let’s hang out soon, she said. To celebrate that you survived without breaking your neck. We’re overdue for our birthday diner trip. A pause. You’re going to be ok, ok?
Bruce cracked a smile at that. Thanks, he texted back.
Just when he was starting to wonder how much longer he’d have to stay in the room, two police officers stepped inside. One of them nodded for Bruce to follow them out. “You’re free to go,” he said. “We’ll take you home. Your guardian will meet you there, along with Detective Draccon.”
“Detective Draccon?” Bruce asked as they went.
“She’s discussing your sentence with Mr. Pennyworth.” The officer looked uninterested in saying more on the subject, leaving Bruce to speculate on who the detective might be.
Half an hour later, they pulled up at the elaborate, gilded gates of the Wayne estate. The four pillars bordering the manor’s front entrance came into view, along with the set of stone stairs leading up to the massive double doors. Twin towers rising three stories high peaked at either end of the manor. Iron light poles, their lamps not yet lit in the early afternoon, adorned the sides of the cobblestone path leading from the gate up to the stairs.
Bruce saw a blue car waiting outside the gate, the words GOTHAM CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT emblazoned prominently in bold white across the doors. Standing in front of the driver’s side was Alfred, and beside him waited a woman in a light silk shirt that contrasted with her black skin, her long tan coat draped neatly across her shoulders. She straightened as their car approached. While Alfred gave the car a quick wave, the woman’s eyes fixed on Bruce.
“You’ve kept me waiting,” she said to the officer in the driver’s seat.
“Sorry, Detective,” he replied. “Hit some traffic on the way over.”
“Bruce,” Alfred said, leaning down to peer into the car, “this is Detective Draccon.”
The detective rested a hand against the open window on the passenger side. Bruce noticed the simple silver rings on her dark fingers, and her impeccably polished nails, painted a clean brown nude. “Nice to meet you, Bruce Wayne,” she greeted him. “Glad you’re not the one driving.” Then she turned away.
The windows in Wayne Manor’s parlor had been thrown open to the air, letting in dappled sunlight and a breeze. Bruce walked through the front entrance into a grand foyer that opened up to a high ceiling. A staircase adorned with wrought iron railings curved up to a balcony that overlooked the living and dining rooms. At the moment, everything seemed in a state of disarray; white canvas was draped over all the living and dining room furniture, protecting it while workers refinished the walls, and part of the stairs remained blocked off because a few loose banisters needed replacement. Alfred was busy directing two people from the garage to the kitchen as they delivered groceries in preparation for the week’s meals.