Chapter Text
The cold light of the police station flickered over the grimy tiles.
Humidity dripped down the walls like old sweat from so many other forgotten dramas there.
Talia walked in silence, her slow and elegant steps contrasting with the metallic sound of the handcuff chains swinging on her wrists.
Her low-heeled shoes echoed like muffled gunshots in that place of worn concrete.
Her dress
a deep green
elegant
sober
was wrinkled
wine-stained at the shoulder, and there was dried blood on the hem, the result of the bottle that had shattered over Bruce's head.
That had been intentional.
Not on her part, but on his.
He hit himself.
Talia wanted to scream, run away, protect her children.
But now she was the woman who had almost killed her husband with a bottle.
The assailant
The police officer escorting her didn't even look her in the eye.
“Go to cell 3. You can sit down. You'll get your call soon,” she said indifferently.
Tália entered the cell without protesting.
It was small, with no windows.
A concrete bench stuck to the wall, a cold floor and the smell of disinfected vomit.
She sat up straight, as if she still wanted to preserve the last line of dignity within those walls.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
She tried to think of her children
but all she could see was Damian's face
crying
begging her not to be taken away.
The metal door creaked.
"You have the right to one phone call."
She stood up slowly, guided to the phone fixed to the wall of the reception area.
The eyes of a young police officer watched her suspiciously.
Talia ignored him.
She picked up the phone.
She dialed firmly.
Three rings.
“Harvey Dent”
“Harvey… it’s me”
“…Talia?”
The silence on the other end was almost crueler than the words.
“I’m at the central police station. I need help. Bruce… Bruce framed me. Said I assaulted him. That I broke a wine bottle on him. They arrested me.”
“Wait,” he interrupted, his voice firm and collected now. “Are you telling me you’re under arrest for assaulting your husband?”
“He set it up. He broke the damn bottle all over himself. There was enough blood to make it look like a serious assault, so he blamed it all on me. And he… he had the audacity to look at the police and say he was trying to stop me from having a fit.
He said I was unstable. That I wanted to take the kids away from him.”
“This is crazy.”
“And they believed him. The police believed him. He was calm. Persuasive. And here I was, covered in blood, with my dress torn, screaming for my children.”
“Damn…”
Harvey took a deep breath.
Now his tone was different
professional.
Calculated.
“Which police station are you in?”
“Central police station. Small cell. One of those used for drunks and troublemakers.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Only my pride. But… Damian saw everything. He was there. He tried to run to me, and one of the police officers held him back. He kept screaming. I heard his voice until the door closed…”
Harvey was silent for a moment, heavy.
“What do you want me to do, Talia?”
She closed her eyes. She didn’t hesitate.
“I want out of here. And I want my children. I want full custody. I want to disappear from his life. I never asked for revenge, Harvey.
I just want to protect them. Damian… he’s breaking inside. You know how he is. And Cassandra… Jason… they’re all in danger. If I don’t act now, I’ll lose them. Not to another country, or school… but to this… this soulless hole that Bruce has become.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Not yet. But I’ll get it. I just need to get out of here. I need time.”
“And money?”
“I have enough to pay you and get the three of you away. I don’t care if Bruce sees me as an enemy now. I just want my children. I want to… live. Start over.”
Harvey remained silent for a few more seconds, absorbing each word carefully.
When he spoke again, his voice was steely.
“I’m going to get you out of there. Today. I’m going to file a writ of habeas corpus. What Bruce did is supported only by reports and appearances, and appearances are dispelled by reliable testimony. As soon as you’re out, we’ll start the custody process. We’ll show that he’s unstable, controlling, aggressive. There’s no need for scandal, just truth.”
“Thank you…”
“Don’t thank me. Not yet. This is going to be a war. And you’re going to have to be stronger than ever…”
She smiled sideways, the first human gesture since entering that cell.
“Hold on tight. I’m on my way.”
The call ended.
Tália put the phone back on the hook, her hands still shaking.
She wasn't crying anymore.
But her gaze... her gaze was made of wrought iron.
She wasn't a defeated woman.
She was a mother at war.
The station smelled of burnt coffee, mold, and old papers.
Fluorescent lights flickered above police files and tired men with badges.
Outside, the early morning sky was a starless gray blanket, heavy as lead. Gotham slept.
But Harvey Dent did not.
The doors to the station creaked open.
Harvey stormed in silently.
His expensive shoes clicked on the linoleum floor with surgical precision.
He held a black leather briefcase with documents inside, and his dark eyes burned with determination.
He went straight to the counter. A fat police officer with a scruffy mustache looked up from the file he was reading.
“Can I help you?”
“Harvey Dent. I’m Mrs. Talia Wayne Al Ghul’s lawyer. I’m here to get her out of the cell where she was placed in a completely irregular manner,” he said, without losing his cold tone.
“Mrs. Al Ghul was arrested for domestic assault,” the officer replied, crossing his arms. “Bodily assault. A broken wine bottle. We have a witness. And an injury to her husband as evidence.”
Harvey gave him a look that could have cut steel.
“The injury was self-inflicted. The police report is based on a shoddy fabrication. The ‘husband’ in question has a history of coercive, deceitful, and manipulative behavior, with past reports filed away for… convenience.” Harvey pulled an envelope from his briefcase and placed it on the counter. “Here is a writ of habeas corpus signed by Judge Patterson. I want her out of that cell immediately.”
The policeman took the documents and quickly leafed through them. He swallowed hard.
“Yeah… I’d better call the commissioner.”
“Do that. And tell him that if he doesn’t comply with the order in five minutes, I’ll file a formal complaint against this department for unlawful arrest. It’ll be in the Gotham Gazette before breakfast.”
The officer disappeared down a hallway.
Harvey remained motionless, impassive, until a female officer appeared minutes later, asking him to follow her.
The cell was small, cold, and poorly lit.
Typical of those used for drunks or petty criminals.
But the woman inside was far from ordinary.
Talia Al Ghul sat on the concrete bench, her legs crossed, her light blue linen dress now dirty, wrinkled, and with dark marks on the cuffs and shoulders.
Her eyes were sunken with weariness, but there was something about her
an old, constant fire
that never went out.
Hearing the door open, she immediately stood up.
“Harvey.”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he said, coming closer. “But it’s done. You’re free. For now.”
She let out a breath as if she had been holding it in for hours.
“How did you do it?”
“I played dirty. Patterson owed me a favor,” she replied bluntly. “They had no legal basis for keeping her here. The police report was flimsy. I knew Bruce wouldn’t be able to sustain that story for long.”
Talia walked towards him, her steps still firm, despite her evident fatigue.
She picked up her bag that was lying in the corner of the cell.
The mirror on the wall reflected her pale face, her disheveled hair.
But her eyes… her eyes were pure steel.
“Thank you for coming. I knew you were the only one who would answer. All the other lawyers… are afraid of him.”
“And rightly so,” Harvey said, already following her into the hallway. “Bruce is smart. Calculating. And now he knows you want to leave him.”
“I never hid the fact that I wanted to leave. But this? I didn’t think he was… capable of doing what he did… Accusing me of assaulting him?” She laughed humorlessly. “Arrest me? Separate me from my children?”
“He doesn’t want you out of the house. He wants you out of their lives. Forever. And if he can do that by looking like the victim, he’ll use any tactic.”
They walked through the damp corridors of the police station
Tália looked around
absorbing the weight of the moment.
“Harvey… I don’t want any more war. I don’t want to put my children in court. I don’t want dirty laundry aired in the press. I just want custody. I just want them with me. And I want to leave. Away from him.”
Harvey stopped, looking her in the eyes seriously.
“If you really want to get out of this with your children, Talia… you’re going to have to be tougher than ever. Bruce won’t give up. He doesn’t want the boys because he loves them. He wants them for pride. Image. Control.”
She nodded, dropping her gaze for a second.
“I know. He never looked at them as people. Always as… parts. Tools.”
“And you know what he’s capable of. So we’re going to do everything within the law. Reports. Witnesses. Any trace of his unstable behavior that we can prove. I’ll file the emergency custody petition tomorrow morning. But you need to be prepared.”
Talia raised her face again, her chin firm.
“I’m ready. For them, I am.”
Harvey opened the car door for her. The dawn was swallowing Gotham with its usual darkness.
But there, between the smoke and the fear, Talia still resisted.
The city seemed dead as Harvey's car drove through the silent streets of Gotham.
A light rain was beginning to fall, almost timidly, as if even the weather was afraid to make noise that night.
Tália remained silent in the passenger seat.
Her hands were resting in her lap, still trembling.
Her wrinkled dress clung to her skin, damp with sweat and tension.
She kept her eyes fixed on the window, watching the dark city slide past streetlights and corners.
A place that, just a few hours ago, was her home.
A place where her children were now sleeping
or perhaps awake, confused, scared...
alone.
Harvey watched her from time to time.
He knew she needed silence more than words at the moment.
Finally, he turned onto a quiet, uncrowded street lined with old, dark brick houses and small gardens damp from the drizzle.
He stopped the car in front of one of them.
“We’re here,” he said softly.
Talia simply nodded and opened the door.
She leaned lightly against the car as she got out.
Her heels were worn and her ankles ached.
But she walked with dignity to the front door.
Harvey opened the door for her.
The interior was sober and clean, with dark furniture and shelves full of law books.
The yellow light from the living room warmed the room, and a faint aroma of stale coffee and polished wood hung in the air.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward the couch. “I’ll get you something warm.”
Tália sat up slowly, as if the weight of the entire night was sinking into her joints.
The room was silent.
For the first time in hours, she felt…
safe
But not relieved.
Harvey returned with a steaming mug.
“Tea. It’s not the best, but it helps calm you down.”
She took the mug, saying nothing for a moment.
Then she took a deep breath.
“Harvey… what do I do now?”
He sat down across from her, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie.
“Now, you rest. Tomorrow morning, we’ll officially file for temporary custody and divorce. I’ll attach your account of the night, contest the report Bruce forged, and start pulling up any prior history we can use. Is there anything he’s done to the kids…any behavior we can prove was dangerous?”
Talia hesitated.
She looked at the mug, then at him.
“He’s been physically aggressive with them for a few months now. Especially with Jason… and Damian… he treated them like thorns in his side… And with Cassandra… he pretends to love them. But everything had a reason. He never protected them. He only molded them. His coldness… it’s the kind that makes a child stop crying not for comfort, but for fear.”
Harvey nodded seriously.
“That might be helpful. But we need more. Depositions. School records. Maybe someone at the pizza place saw something. Employees. Even John Grayson. Does he still work for you guys?”
“Yeah. He’s Bruce’s best friend. But… after what happened to his son…” her voice wavered. “I don’t know how he’ll react.”
Harvey leaned in a little.
“Talia, you are waging war against a man who can lie better than most criminals I have ever defended,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “But he is not invincible. And you are not alone anymore. Tomorrow we will begin to dismantle the image he has created. Brick by brick.”
She looked at him.
For the first time, her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t cry.
She just nodded.
“Thank you, Harvey…. For believing in me.”
“I always did. Even when I was a prosecutor, even when Bruce was offering me a fake handshake and pretending to be the perfect father. I knew something was wrong.”
“And what did you see?”
Harvey rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
“A hollow man. An actor. A predator who needed to keep his mask on.” He looked up at her. “And you… you’re one of the few people who saw what was behind it and is still here.”
Talia smiled, a barely visible smile.
“I still am.”
Harvey stood up.
“There’s a room ready upstairs. Clean clothes. Towel. Get some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”
She stood up, walking slowly toward the stairs. Before she went upstairs, she looked at him one more time.
“If I don’t get custody… he’ll destroy my children.”
“Then we won’t let that happen,” Harvey replied with firm conviction. “I promise.”
The sun had not yet fully risen in the sky.
The house was silent, enveloped by that pale, blue light of early morning.
Damian was still asleep, curled up in the bedroom, clutching the pillow.
Cassandra, already awake, sat on the living room rug, absentmindedly fiddling with a sketchbook, her eyes sunken and dull.
In the kitchen, Bruce Wayne was pouring his own coffee.
His jacket was neatly pressed, his hair impeccable, as if the previous night had not disrupted his routine at all.
The phone rested next to the steaming cup.
He waited.
And then it rang.
Bruce answered on the first ring, already anticipating who it would be.
“Speak.”
Lucius Fox’s deep, professional voice answered on the other end of the line
“The request has been filed. She filed for divorce and full custody of the children as soon as she left the police station. She’s with Harvey Dent. They’re moving fast.”
Bruce let out a soft “hmm,” without any trace of surprise.
He took a calm sip of his coffee, staring at the distance in front of him.
“As I imagined. She never knew how to lose,” he said with a slight smile on the corner of his lips. “Harvey is still predictable. A good guard dog. He just needs a little mud on his paws to be discredited.”
“What about Talia?” Lucius asked. “Are you really willing to go through with this?”
Bruce walked slowly into the living room, watching Cassandra sitting on the floor.
His daughter stared at him for a moment, trying to read her father’s gaze.
He responded with a gentle smile and a wink.
She looked down again.
“She dug her own grave,” Bruce replied calmly. “I’m just finishing covering it with dirt.”
“Are you going to fight back?” Lucius asked, his tone more cautious.
Bruce smiled.
“I’m already attacking.”
He slowly bent down next to Cassandra, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a light, fatherly gesture.
“She still trusts me. Cassandra loves me. That’s enough.”
Lucius hesitated before speaking.
“Bruce… we’re talking about children. Are you really going to involve her in this?”
“Lucius, you know better than anyone… the world belongs to those who are willing to do what others won’t. The image I’ve built as an exemplary father needs to be protected. If Talia wins, she’ll not only take away my children, she’ll take away the only thing that still sustains me socially: respect.”
“And what exactly do you intend to do?”
Bruce stood up and walked towards the window, looking at the still gray sky.
“Cassandra has already begun to doubt her mother. One more push, and she’ll believe she was attacked too. We just need her to say the right thing, at the right time. Crying, of course. Crying children convince jurors. I’ll say she had a panic attack after the fight, that she didn’t tell anyone before because she was afraid… all well scripted.”
Lucius took a deep breath on the other end of the line, but didn’t argue.
He knew who he was dealing with.
“I can prepare the documents for a legal counterattack, but if you’re going to go down that road… you’ll have to make sure she says exactly what she needs to say. And that her response is convincing.”
Bruce nodded, as if he had every detail already committed to memory.
“Leave it to me. Cassandra is needy. Her mother “abandoned” her, as I would say. She will listen to me. She has always wanted to please me, Lucius. Always. I just need to use it.”
“What about Damian?”
Bruce slowly turned his face toward the upstairs, where the boy still slept.
“He’s not a problem. He’s too broken to fight back. Fear is in his control. And that… will come in handy soon,” he said, his tone so calm it gave her chills. “But first, I’ll take down Talia. Then… I’ll start what I’ve planned with him.”
Lucius was silent for a moment.
“The fear gas…”
“It’s still being tested, but it will work. And who better to test it on than a child who no one listens to? An isolated, anxious, fearful boy… no one would believe him if he said he saw monsters.”
“What if Talia finds out?”
Bruce smiled bitterly.
“Find out what? That she lost everything to a game she never knew how to play? That she was naive enough to run out of the house without a plan? She’s done for. The only thing left for her to do… is watch what’s left of her family fall apart.”
Lucius replied quietly,
“You’re going too far, Bruce.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘too far’ when it comes to maintaining control.”
He hung up the phone without another word.
He walked back into the living room and crouched down next to Cassandra again.
The girl was sitting on the carpet, her sketchbook on her lap.
The bear on the paper had a complete body now, but its eyes were blurred, with repeated and heavy lines as if she no longer knew how to make it smile.
Bruce approached with slow, careful steps, as if he didn't want to scare a wounded animal.
He sat down on the couch behind her, then leaned forward slightly.
“This drawing… is darker than the others,” he commented in a low voice, almost affectionately. “Is everything okay, baby?”
She shrugged
not looking at him.
Bruce waited.
He knew how to wait.
He knew that with Cassandra, silence was part of the language.
“The house feels weird,” she murmured finally. “It feels… smaller.”
“That’s because she really did stay. When someone leaves, it seems like there’s room left in everything… even inside us.”
“Mommy didn’t leave. She was taken.”
Bruce tilted his head, with a dramatic, studied sigh.
“I know. And that’s what makes me sad. I wish it were different. But what happened yesterday… Cass, she could have really hurt someone. You saw what she did with the bottle… To me.”
She bit her lip.
She didn’t say anything.
Bruce leaned down closer, his face close to hers, as if they were sharing a secret.
“You know what’s hardest for me?” she whispered. “Explaining this to others. Because Mommy… always seems so calm, so nice. And she has this sweet way with you guys. It’s just… no one sees what happens when the doors are closed.”
She bit her lip.
She didn’t say anything.
Bruce leaned down closer, his face close to hers, as if they were sharing a secret.
“You know what’s hardest for me?” she whispered. “Explaining this to others. Because Mommy… always seems so calm, so nice. And she has this sweet way with you guys. It’s just… no one sees what happens when the doors are closed.”
Cassandra finally looked at him, her eyes full of questions, fear, guilt.
“She was good to me…”
Bruce nodded.
“I know. Pancakes for breakfast, bedtime stories… All of that was real. But… do you remember what happened when she wouldn’t let you watch TV after dinner?”
“She said it was too late…”
“And when you cried about it, what did she say?”
“That I was spoiled.”
Bruce pursed his lips in a gesture of disguised disapproval.
“Yeah. Sometimes we just wanted some time together… and she would cut it short. She would say ‘no’ too much. Have you noticed that?”
Cassandra hesitated.
Then she nodded.
Very slightly.
He smiled.
A subtle, practiced smile.
“I don’t want you to think badly of her, Cassandra. She’s your mother. She always will be. But sometimes… even good people make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes hurt the ones we love the most.”
She seemed to waver.
A small piece of her certainty was starting to crack.
“I don’t want to choose sides,” she said weakly. “I love you both.”
Bruce stroked her hair with careful fingers, as if she were made of porcelain.
“And you don’t have to choose. You just have to help me… fix things. Can I trust you with that?”
She looked into his eyes.
Those cold eyes behind the practiced sweetness.
“You can…”
He smiled
but not with his lips
with his eyes
with the tone of his voice
with the false confidence of a man who already knows he’s won.
There's just one little thing.
A little favor I wanted to ask you.
Cassandra shrank back a little, confused.
"What favor?"
Bruce changed his tone.
Now he spoke more quietly, more intimately, like a secret between father and daughter.
“There will be a conversation soon. A place with many serious people, some wearing suits, others with papers and pens. They will ask you questions… about what happened here at home.”
The girl nodded slowly.
“I just want you to tell the truth. Your truth, Cass. What you felt. What you saw. No embellishments, no complications. Just… what’s in your heart, okay?”
She took a while to answer. Then she said:
“Okay.”
“And remember: you are brave. And no one knows what happened better than you. Sometimes people get confused, they believe the wrong versions… so it’s important that you speak firmly. With conviction.”
Cassandra looked at the floor.
“What if I forget something?”
“Then you pretend to remember,” he said in a tone too soft for the weight of the words. “Sometimes the heart remembers better than the head.”
She nodded hesitantly.
Bruce hugged her.
“You’re the best part of me, you know? You always have been. That’s why I trust you so much. You’re going to help keep this family together.”
And while Cassandra rested her head on her father's chest, trying to convince herself that this was the right thing to do, Bruce just looked ahead, his eyes dry, calculating, his mind already on the next steps on the board.
The lie would be told.
Tália would be painted as a monster.
And he, as the perfect father.
Everything would go... as he wanted.
Talia was in Harvey's office
The tall windows filtered the evening light through the closed blinds.
The smell of stale coffee mingled with the paper and tension in the air.
She sat in the brown leather chair facing Harvey Dent’s dark wood desk.
She still wore the wrinkled dress from the night before.
Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, a few loose strands framing her tired but firm face.
Harvey was studying a stack of documents before him with stern attention.
He was wearing only a shirt and vest, his tie already removed, his sleeves rolled up.
His face was hard, meticulous, the expression of a man who knew well the weight of the scales of justice and knew how cruel it could be.
“I’ve reviewed everything I’ve gathered since yesterday, Talia,” he began, running his fingers over the paper. “The situation isn’t just bad. It’s… surgically engineered.”
She stared at him silently, her jaw set.
“His record is clean. There’s no mention of abusive or neglectful behavior. And the boy’s death.” Harvey hesitated. “There’s no evidence whatsoever that he had any involvement in the crime. None. The collective testimony from the party maintains that he wasn’t there. But a bartender at a seedy bar he goes to confirmed that Bruce was there during the murder. He did everything right.”
“Of course he did,” Talia whispered. “He always knows what to do.”
“And you…” Harvey continued, his tone now more serious, “spent the night at the police station for alleged domestic violence. You were booked, arrested. And Bruce has already given a statement describing you as emotionally unstable, volatile, aggressive. And you know how the system treats this type of profile when it involves minors.”
Talia looked away. Embarrassment was secondary to what she felt: fear. An old fear, now uncontrollable.
“They’ll think I’m a risk, won’t they?”
Harvey sighed, pushing the paperwork aside.
“At this point… they’ll do more than that. They’ll assume you lost control after years of being disappointed in your marriage to Bruce, that you suddenly started taking it out on him, or even on the kids.”
Talia ran her hands over her face, taking a deep breath.
“I can’t leave Damian, Jason, much less Cassandra with him. I can’t. Did you see how Damian was when they took me to the police station? He almost threw himself on the ground when they took me. He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he feels the danger.”
Harvey leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“The judge will look at your record and will not give you custody of any of them, Talia. Not Cassandra, not Jason, and honestly… not Damian. Even though he is the middle one, and the one who is more vulnerable.”
“So…” she leaned forward, determined, “we need to be strategic. If I try to take them all now, I’ll lose them all. But if I start with Damian… if I can protect him first, create a stable environment… I can use that later to ask for custody of the other two.”
Harvey frowned suspiciously.
“Asking for custody of just one child… it might sound like abandonment of the others. Or favoritism. I don’t know if the court would like that.”
“It’s not favoritism. It’s survival,” she replied firmly. “Jason is older, tougher, and he knows how to stand up to Bruce. And Cassandra… she knows how to keep him in check. But Damian… he’s small. He’s quiet. He’s afraid of everything. And Bruce knows that. He’ll use that. I don’t want to have to choose between them, but I need to get him out of there before it’s too late.”
Harvey looked at the woman before him.
Even exhausted, dirty, and in tatters, she still spoke with the strength of someone who was unwilling to give in.
“Do you think he’s going to hurt Damian?”
Talia hesitated.
She looked down at her hands.
Then, in a low voice
“Not in the obvious way. Bruce is more… refined. He doesn’t want to hurt his children. He wants to use them. Control them. Show them that they are his property. And with Damian… I feel like there’s something darker going on. Like he’s waiting for the right moment to do something. I don’t know what. But I know my son is in danger.”
Harvey nodded slowly.
“Then let’s get started. I’ll prepare the request for temporary custody of Damian, based on the boy’s emotional state, his emotional ties to you, and the risk he poses in a potentially manipulative environment. It’s going to be difficult, but if I’m lucky… maybe the judge will at least grant an emergency hearing.”
Talia nodded, relieved.
“Thank you, Harvey.”
He stood up and walked to the window.
He crossed his arms, looking out at the darkening horizon, the city lights starting to come on.
“But be prepared, Talia. This trial will consume you. He will tarnish your name, turn your children against you, and play the victim until the end. He will fight as if you were the enemy.”
I know.
Harvey turned back to her, serious.
“And you’re going to have to stand up. Flawless. Strong. Even when he comes at you with everything. Can you do that?”
Tália stood up too.
The wrinkled dress didn’t seem to matter anymore.
“If it’s for Damian, for Jason, for Cassandra… I’ll do whatever it takes.”
They exchanged a silent look. Accomplices.
Preparing for a cold war, full of lawsuits, lies and memories.
Little did they know what awaited them on the other side of the city.
Sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains of the office.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, and the unlit fireplace still gave off the faint smell of ashes from the night before.
A cup of coffee was steaming on the desk next to a newly opened folder of legal documents.
Bruce stood, impeccably dressed in a perfectly pressed white shirt, the sleeves carefully rolled up to his elbows.
It had been two days since Talia had left.
And there was still one day left until the court session.
He read the contents of the folder with a slight smile on his lips.
Lucius Fox, sitting in front of him, adjusted his glasses as he studied the same sheets with a clinical eye.
“So… she moved faster than we thought,” Lucius commented, his voice low and unsurprised.
“It was predictable,” Bruce replied calmly, as if he had already seen the scene dozens of times in his head. “She’s a mother. And like all desperate mothers, she’s convinced she can save her son from something she doesn’t understand.”
He turned one of the pages carefully, as if he were leafing through an old book, not a custody case.
“Harvey Dent is with her. That complicates things,” Lucius added.
“It complicates things for her. Dent is rigid, moralistic… he still thinks the world is black and white. But the courtroom is no stage for heroes,” Bruce said, smiling cynically. “It’s a game. And I know how to play.”
Lucius crossed his arms, considering.
“Her request is for temporary custody of Damian. Only him.”
“Of course,” Bruce said. “She knows she can’t get all three. So she’s going to attack the weakest link. The fragile, shy, scared boy. She thinks she can protect him. Create a new life with him. And maybe, one day, win back the other two.”
Bruce leaned back in the chair behind the desk, folding his hands in front of his face.
“But that’s where she’s wrong. Damian…” he smiled with quiet cruelty “…is too loyal.”
Lucius watched him silently.
He knew that smile.
It was the same one Bruce wore when he was on the verge of checkmate.
“Are you going to bench him?”
“Not directly,” Bruce replied. “But I will make sure he is there. That he hears everything. And when the time is right… when the judge asks, when it seems like he has something to say… he will tell exactly what he ‘saw’ that night.”
Lucius stared at him.
“And are you sure he will follow the script?”
"Damian is afraid. Deep fear. And more than that: he's to blame. He thinks that somehow his friend's death was his fault. I planted it carefully. invisible currents.”
“What if he breaks down?”
“He won’t. Not in front of strangers. He may tremble, cry… but he will speak… he will say what he saw and, deep down, he will believe he is telling the truth. That’s how I built the lie. Brick by brick, planted in fear.” Bruce stood up, walking towards the window. “All he needs to remember is that he saw Talia hitting me. That he heard me scream. That the wine bottle broke on my head… and that his mother freaked out. The rest… is just details.”
Lucius took a deep breath.
“Using the boy like this…”
“I’m just using the tools the situation has given me. She chose the game. And now we’re playing it.”
“What if the court orders a psychological evaluation of Damian?”
Bruce turned, still smiling.
“Let them ask. A shy boy, with traumas, seeing his mother arrested… of course he’s going to look shaken. The report will confirm that he needs a stable environment. And who represents stability, Lucius?”
“…You.”
“Exactly.”
Lucius stared at the paper in his hands for a moment longer.
Then he looked up.
“What if Talia tries to reverse this later? If she finds out the truth?”
Bruce approached him calmly.
“No one will believe an unstable woman, arrested for assault, trying to reverse her own son’s testimony. She won’t get custody. Not from Damian, not from anyone. Not while I have control of the pieces.”
There was a tense silence between the two.
“What if the boy breaks, Bruce? What if he starts to suspect the truth?”
Bruce just smiled.
A hollow smile, devoid of any affection.
“Then he will be useful in other ways. Damian… he is the most valuable piece on the board. A pure mind. Fragile. And exactly because of that… perfect for what is to come…”
Lucius remained silent.
For the first time, his eyes wavered.
Bruce returned to the table, gathered the documents and said, as calmly as before:
“Get everything ready. Lawyers, psychologists, simulated environment. The court day will be my stage. And Damian… after Cassandra, will be my best witness.”
The light rain drummed persistently on the window.
Damian's room was almost completely dark, except for the cold light from the hallway, which filtered through the crack in the door.
Damian had been awake for hours.
He had the blanket pulled up to his chin, his eyes lost in the emptiness of the ceiling.
His body was still, as if it were part of the bed.
He didn't know if it was fear, sadness or just the exhaustion of not knowing what to feel anymore.
The doorknob turned slowly. The door swung open, and Bruce appeared like a tall, meticulously controlled shadow.
He entered without a word, closed the door softly behind him, and walked to the center of the room, his steps too calm to be innocent.
“Still awake?” he asked, his voice too low and gentle.
As if he were worried.
Damian didn't answer.
He didn't even move.
His body curled up under the covers was the only defense he knew.
Bruce pulled out his desk chair and sat down next to the bed.
He watched his son in silence for a moment, then let out a small, almost theatrical sigh.
“I know. Everything is a mess right now, isn’t it?” he said, running his fingers through his hair, as if he was exhausted. “It’s hard when the people you trust hurt you.”
The boy’s silence was absolute.
But there was a tension in the air, like the breath caught before crying.
“You saw what happened, Damian. You saw it. There’s no way to forget it. That night… the way she screamed… how she tried to attack me…” Bruce paused sharply. “I never meant for things to come to this. But your mother… she lost control.”
Damian turned his face away, as if that could make him disappear.
Bruce leaned forward, his face still calm, but his eyes sharp as broken glass.
“I tried. I really did. But she started saying she was going to take you. All of you. Away from me. She said I was a monster… that I should disappear. But you know I’m not going to disappear, don’t you?”
Damian squeezed his eyes shut.
“Daddy… I don’t understand…”
Bruce touched his son’s face with a warm, firm palm. A gentle touch, but controlling. He turned the boy’s face toward him gently.
“You don’t have to understand everything right now, son. You just have to trust me. I’m protecting you. Cassandra. Even Jason. That’s what parents do.”
His voice grew more intense with each word, his eyes fixed on Damian as if seeking to pierce through any resistance.
“That night, she freaked out. She said she was going to destroy our family. I said enough was enough. I wanted a divorce. And that’s when…” Bruce made a subtle gesture to his head, as if reliving the scene “that’s when she picked up the bottle. You heard the sound, didn’t you? When she broke that wine bottle over my head?”
Damian clenched his fists under the blanket.
“You remember, don’t you?”
The boy nodded slowly, almost hypnotized.
“I could have died. In front of you,” Bruce continued, his voice deepening, controlling each syllable. “But I resisted. For you. Because I knew… that if she stayed, you would end up like her. A failure. A mistake. And you’re not that. Not yet.”
Bruce stood up, walked to the window, and stood there in silence for a while, watching the rain. Then he turned back around and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You know there’s going to be a trial, don’t you?”
Damian looked at him with wet eyes.
He blinked slowly, his breath coming in short gasps.
The boy nodded, a hollow, defeated gesture.
Bruce smiled calmly.
But the smile was not happy.
It was that of a satisfied predator.
“Very well, my son. Very well.”
He bent down and hugged Damian, a hug that seemed affectionate but felt more like a chain tightening.
Then he lifted the boy’s chin once more.
“If you say anything different… if you waver… people will think you’re lying. They’ll take you away from me. And…” he paused, his voice dropping to an icy pitch, “if that happens, I won’t be able to protect you. And then you’ll become a failure. Like her… and you won’t be part of the family anymore.”
Damian didn’t answer.
His breathing was shaky.
His eyes were watery, his face white.
“But if you do everything right… I promise that later we’ll buy you all the toys you want. All those stuffed toys of Freddy, Foxy, Chica… even Bonnie. You’ll have them all. You’ll be able to sleep surrounded by them. Safe. With your friends by your side. Proud of you.”
Bruce calmly got up, turned off the bedside lamp and went to the door.
Before leaving, he said:
“I knew I could count on you”
And closed the door.
Damian stood there, alone in the dark.
The tears flowed silently, but he didn't make a sound.
He just hugged his own body, trying to convince himself that all of this would pass.
That maybe… he really was doing the right thing.
He just had to tell what he saw
And obey his father
But deep down, he knew he was being swallowed by something he didn't understand.
And there was no one by his side to save him.
Not Dick
Not Talia
Nobody
He was alone….
The sky was overcast, gray as wet concrete, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
The courthouse stood imposingly, with its austere columns and wide staircases, like an altar to truth or whoever manipulated it best.
The black car pulled up slowly in front. The door opened, and Talia stepped out firmly.
Her dark green dress contrasted with her pale skin and fiery gaze. Her firm heels echoed on the cold marble steps as she climbed up beside Harvey Dent.
He was in a gray suit, elegant and pragmatic, with the hard expression of someone who knew he was going to war.
“Remember, Talia. They’re going to play dirty,” Harvey muttered as they climbed up. “And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”
“I won’t stop until I get what I want either, Harvey.” Her gaze was sharp. “He’s not going to get my kids. Ever.”
Across the street, another car pulled up.
Bruce got out first, adjusting his black suit with practiced coolness.
His dark eyes swept the courthouse steps with almost blasé calm.
Beside him stood Lucius Fox, sober and composed, a leather briefcase in his arms and a faint smile of confidence.
The children followed.
Damian walked in silence, his eyes fixed on the steps, each step heavy, as if he were walking towards the abyss.
He was wearing a black suit, a little too big for his age.
His hands were shaking slightly.
Bruce squeezed his son's shoulder as if guiding a piece on a chessboard.
Cassandra walked beside him, wearing a pearly white dress, braided hair and a confused gleam in her eyes
lost between guilt
longing for her mother, and obedience to her father.
Jason, on the other hand, looked like a bomb about to explode.
In a dark suit, his tie loosened, and his jaw clenched in anger.
He walked a little behind
clearly on Talia's side, although forced to accompany Bruce.
He glanced at his father.
Bruce didn't even look at him.
He just kept climbing, his step firm, his expression serene.
He had already calculated everything.
Damian's testimony.
The false narrative.
The manipulated evidence.
Public perception.
The theater was already set.
At the top of the stairs, the two sides finally met.
Tália stood before Bruce.
The wind ruffled her dark hair, and her eyes seemed to hold all the pain of the past few days, transformed into pure steel.
“You’re going to regret all of this, Bruce,” she said coldly.
“I already regret it, Talia. For letting you get close to them.” He smiled cynically. “Nice lawyer, how many times do I have to sleep with him to get paid for the service?”
Tália raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
“You worm.”
Bruce just turned his face away from the impact.
Then he looked back at her with that same venomous smile.
“Are you going to do this in front of the children? Violent as always.”
Harvey stepped forward, but Lucius stepped between them.
“This is a courtroom, Dent, not a ring.”
“Don’t worry, Fox,” Harvey said, with a cold smile. “Justice still knows the difference between a father and a manipulator with psychopathic traits.”
The two men stared at each other with visible tension.
On the other side, Jason was holding Cassandra's hand, who was tense, scared.
Damian just stared at the floor, his throat dry, his heart clenched in an unbearable knot.
“Mom…” he whispered, not daring to call her.
Tália looked at him in pain, but kept her composure.
Only her eyes showed how devastated she was to see her son so psychologically hurt.
“It’s going to start…” Cassandra murmured.
The doors to the court opened. A guard directed them to enter.
Inside the main room, the silence was piercing.
Everyone present stood up as a man with an austere expression, dark skin and discreet glasses, entered the room with his robe over his shoulders.
Judge Doug Thomas
sat down gravely.
“All rise,” the officer announced. “Gotham Family Court. Judge Doug Thomas presiding. Session now called to order.”
The two sides lined up. Bruce, with Lucius on the left.
Talia and Harvey on the right.
The children were positioned in the center, between the two, as if they were prizes fought over by monsters disguised as adults.
The silence was absolute.
Doug Thomas straightened the papers in front of him.
Then he looked at the people involved.
His gaze stopped briefly on Damian, and the boy shivered.
“Let’s get started”