Rain fell hard against the high-rise windows of Gotham's Diamond Quarter, cascading down glass like a sheet of mourning. The Wayne Foundation had funded many homes in this part of the city-but not this one. This belonged to the Harrows, an old-money family known for silence, discretion, and ties to power.
All of them were dead.
Batman stood in the middle of the lavish penthouse, cape draped low, shadow merging with marble and moonlight. The bodies of Victor, Elise, and twelve-year-old Mason Harrow were slumped at the dinner table. No forced entry. No screams. Eyes wide, frozen in a silent terror. Precise stab wounds to the heart. Surgical. Ritualistic.
But it wasn't the method that chilled him-it was the calling card.
Three grey owl feathers laid carefully across the child's plate.
"No note," Batman muttered into his cowl mic. "No blood trail. Just feathers."
"Could it be a copycat?" Alfred voice crackled in his ear, distant but calm.
"I don't think so. Look at the angle of entry-someone trained. And the feathers..." He knelt, examining them with gloved precision. "Real owl feathers. Albino strix nebulosa. Same as the original Talon murders. Not sold in Gotham anymore."
Alfred went silent for a second, then: "Master Bruce... do you think the Court's back?"
Batman rose slowly, eyes scanning the walls. Portraits of masked faces. Ancient wealth. Layers of quiet corruption. He touched one-a painting of Victor Harrow with a Masonic symbol hidden in the frame's corner.
"They never left," Batman said. "They just changed masks."
A sudden gust of wind shattered the open balcony doors behind him. He turned instinctively-Batarang in hand-but there was no one.
Just one more feather floating down, landing at his feet.
*Later in the Batcave*
The Batcave was quiet, save for the low hum of the Batcomputer processing blood samples and surveillance data from the Harrow crime scene. Bats fluttered in the far reaches of the cave, stirring from the storm outside. Bruce stood at the massive workstation, cowl off, eyes locked on the rotating 3D render of the owl feathers projected on screen.
Behind him, Alfred approached with a silver tray and a quiet dignity only decades of service could carry.
"You haven't eaten," Alfred said, setting down a steaming cup of black tea. "And no, Mr. Wayne, caffeine from your emergency rations doesn't count."
Bruce didn't look away from the screen. "Three members of one of Gotham's oldest families, murdered in their own home. No struggle. There is no evidence of entry. Grey owl feathers left deliberately."
Alfred's jaw tightened. "The Court?"
Bruce nodded. "It matches the original Talon pattern-pre-52. Heart-piercing strikes, minimal blood loss, precise and symbolic. But what worries me most is who they targeted."
Alfred arched an eyebrow. "The Harrows?"
"They were connected," Bruce said grimly. "Victor Harrow served on the city zoning board twenty years ago. He helped push through construction permits for underground expansions-projects buried in city planning archives. In the same year, the Court disappeared from known activity."
"Meaning... they're not just killing for fear or ritual. They're covering their past."
Bruce brought up a new file-maps, old building schematics, and blueprints of Gotham's substructures.
"They're cleaning house," he said. "Anyone who helped build the nest beneath our feet is being erased."
Alfred glanced at the rotating feather hologram, his voice low and careful. "You've fought these people before, sir. But this... this feels more intimate. Less like a message to the city. It's more like a message to you."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "They know I'm watching. And they're daring me to follow."
There was a long pause between them.
Then Alfred said, "Shall I notify the rest of the family?"
Bruce's shoulders tensed.
"No," he said quietly. "Not yet. If the Court suspects someone inside the family, we can't risk exposure. I'll handle this alone."
Alfred stared for a moment, concern rising. "You mean to go after them without allies?"
Bruce turned, face shadowed by the low light of the Batcomputer.
"Not alone. I have someone in mind. Someone who knows how to disappear in plain sight. Someone who can fool even the Owls."
A name hung in the air, unsaid-but both of them thought it:
Dick Grayson.
*Dick Grayson apartment*
The room was dim, lit only by the soft orange glow of early morning slipping through the curtains. Blüdhaven's skyline stood still beyond the windows, untouched by the storm brooding over Gotham.
Dick Grayson lay in bed, the soft rhythm of breathing beside him grounding him in rare peace.
Then came the buzzing.
His phone, vibrating on the nightstand. He groaned quietly, hand reaching out across the sheets to grab it. The screen lit up with a familiar name.
"Bruce Wayne"
He sat up, rubbing a hand across his face before answering.
"Yeah?" he said, voice thick with sleep.
"Come to the Manor. Now," came Bruce's voice-firm, urgent, controlled, but carrying something else underneath. A hint of gravity Dick hadn't heard in months.
Dick was already sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. "What is it?"
"I'll explain when you get here."
The call ended.
Dick sighed, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand. He stood and stretched, reaching for his jeans. As he moved around the room, a soft voice broke the silence behind him.
"You always leave like that?"
He turned. Barbara Gordon was half-sitting up in the bed, the sheet draped loosely around her waist, auburn hair a little tousled. Her wheelchair rested near the foot of the bed, untouched since last night.
Dick gave a sheepish smile. "Only when the Bat sends up the signal."
Barbara arched a brow. "Must be serious."
"It usually is." He pulled his shirt over his head, pausing for a moment. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," she said softly. "I'm glad I caught you before you just disappeared."
There was something unspoken in her voice-half a tease, half a plea.
He walked over, crouching by the side of the bed, brushing his fingers lightly over her hand. "I'll be back."
Barbara looked into his eyes, then gave a small nod. "You always say that."
He leaned in, kissed her gently on the forehead, and then stood.
As he strapped on his watch, he hesitated. "Can I... tell him about us?"
Barbara smirked. "You think he doesn't know?"
Dick laughed under his breath. "Probably. But I don't want this-us-to be in the shadows."
Barbara's voice was quiet now. "Then tell him. If this is something big... I want you going in with no secrets. Especially not from me."
Dick nodded. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
*Later at the Batcave*
The rain had followed Dick all the way to Gotham.
By the time he pulled up to Wayne Manor, it was still coming down in sheets, tapping against the windows like fingers on a coffin lid. He entered through the hidden passage beneath the estate-just like old times-and made his way to the Batcave, where Bruce stood waiting in front of the massive digital map of Gotham, already illuminated with dozens of flashing red points.
Alfred was beside him, hands clasped behind his back, the perfect statue of calm.
Dick approached, removing his jacket, the air between the three of them heavy with what wasn't being said.
"You called," Dick said, voice even.
Bruce turned, shadows cutting sharp lines across his face. "Three members of the Harrow family were murdered last night. Precise kills. Ritualistic. And they left these."
He tapped the console. Three high-resolution images of grey owl feathers appeared, each one placed deliberately on the victims.
Dick narrowed his eyes. "The Court."
Bruce nodded. "They're back. Maybe they never left. But they're making moves-quietly, surgically. And I need someone inside."
Dick looked from the feathers to Bruce. "You want me to go undercover."
"No one else can do it," Bruce said. "You're the only one who was trained by me, raised in high society, and already on their radar from the Talon incident five years ago."
Dick exhaled. "And the others?"
Bruce's gaze hardened. "They won't know."
Dick blinked. "Not even Barbara?"
"No one," Bruce said.
Alfred stepped forward gently. "We've prepared a cover story. The family will be told you're in Eastern Europe-negotiating with new NGOs for Wayne Foundation partnerships. Something noble and low-profile."
Dick gave a short, humourless laugh. "That's actually believable."
He looked back at the massive map of Gotham, then said, "And Blüdhaven? Who watches it while I disappear into the dark?"
Bruce didn't hesitate. "Red Hood and Red Robin will keep an eye on it. It won't fall."
Dick crossed his arms. "You're trusting Jason with my city?"
Bruce's tone didn't flinch. "I'm trusting you with something far more dangerous."
There was silence for a long moment.
Then Dick said, "You know what I'll have to do. What I'll have to become to make them believe I'm one of them."
"I know."
"They'll make me kill. Hurt people. Lie. Cross lines you hate."
"I know," Bruce repeated, quieter this time.
Dick studied him, waiting for judgment. It didn't come.
Instead, Bruce turned fully toward him and said, "This isn't about rules. This is about stopping something that's been beneath our city for centuries. And if it costs your soul... then it's my fault."
Alfred looked away at that.
Dick gave a slow nod, the weight settling on his shoulders.
"I'll need time," he said. "To vanish, to burn old bridges. To say goodbye without saying it."
Bruce stepped aside, pressing a key on the console. A new map appeared-underground tunnels, old court sanctuaries, whispers of the labyrinth.
" Is this where they're hiding?" Dick asks, not taking his eyes off the map.
" It's where we believe there hiding, yes." Bruce said, standing next to dick, "come, we still have much to discuss. " Bruce says as he starts to walk to the work bench.
*some hours later*
The rain had slowed, but the sky over Gotham remained a dull grey. Inside the Batcave, the storm never really stopped.
Dick stood by the vault elevator, suit half-zipped, hair still damp, thinking. He stared at the Court's map, at the cold tunnels and hidden chambers etched into the earth beneath the city.
"Alright," he finally said. "What do I tell them?"
Bruce didn't look away from the screen. "You tell them you're tired of me not doing enough for the city. That you're done cleaning up Gotham's messes while people like me rot the city from the inside out. You tell them you're ready to evolve...for change...for power."
Dick crossed his arms. "You want me to tell them I want in. That I want power."
"They'll believe it," Bruce said. "Because they already suspect it."
A pause.
Then Dick asked, "Why me?"
Bruce finally looked at him.
"You have Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Kate. Hell, even Duke. Why not them?" Dick asked.
There was no hesitation.
"Because you're the only one who understands how to live a lie," Bruce said. "You've been wearing masks since you were nine. Smiling through grief. Playing the acrobat while carrying the weight of the world. The Court will see that-and they'll think they can manipulate it. You're the only one who can fool them because you know who you are under the mask."
Dick was quiet for a moment.
Then he nodded, slowly accepting the burden.
He turned toward the elevator, and Bruce followed him, they starting to descend back toward the Batcycle parked on the lower platform. But before he could take more than two steps, Bruce's voice cut through the silence behind him.
"Dick."
He stopped.
Bruce stepped forward, just a little. His voice was low, but steel-hard.
"Whatever you and Barbara are-it no longer matters. Do you understand?"
Dick turned halfway, eyes narrowing. "Bruce-"
"No," Bruce said, stepping closer. "Listen to me. From the moment you vanish, there is to be no contact. No messages. No encrypted signals. No visits. Nothing."
Dick's jaw clenched. "You think I'd put her in danger?"
"I think the Court already watches you more than you realize," Bruce snapped. "And if they find out she means something to you-if they even suspect it-they won't hesitate. They will kill her, and then they will kill you."
The words echoed in the cave.
Alfred, standing nearby, said nothing. He didn't need to.
Bruce's voice dropped to something harder to fight than anger-fear. "This isn't a mission, Dick. It's war. And love is the fastest way to lose it."
Dick looked away, fists tightening.
He wanted to argue. Wanted to scream. But he knew Bruce was right.
"Do you understand?" Bruce asked again, quieter now.
Dick nodded once.
But he didn't say it out loud.
Because saying it would make it real.
"Good, I will stay in touch." Bruce walks back to the elevator. Before he heads up, he tells dick " Believe me dick if there was another way, I wouldn't be asking you to take this responsibility... I hope you understand, son."
The elevator doors closes and Bruce makes his way back up.
Dick eyes follow the elevator as he mumbles to himself, " I know Bruce...I know."
Dick gets on his motorbike and makes his way back to Bludhaven....back to her.