Morning came in gradually, the kind that eased into the room rather than demanding attention. Soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the walls while the distant sounds of Gotham waking up drifted faintly through the glass.
Nolan opened his eyes and remained still for a few moments, letting himself come fully awake before moving. His thoughts were already there, waiting for him, lingering from the night before. The rooftop. The Talons. Batman.
He let out a slow breath and pushed himself upright, his movements careful out of habit. His attention immediately shifted to his leg.
The bandaging was still wrapped neatly where the doctor had left it, but something felt off. There was no sharp pain when he adjusted his position, only a dull tightness that seemed far too mild for what he had gone through.
That alone was enough to draw his focus.
Nolan reached down and began unwrapping the dressing, taking his time as he peeled back each layer until the stitches were exposed. He studied the wound in silence, his expression gradually tightening with curiosity.
The swelling had already gone down more than it should have. The edges of the injury were pulling together, the skin knitting itself back in a way that felt unnatural in its speed.
He pressed lightly against it, testing the sensitivity. There was discomfort, but it lacked the intensity he expected.
"They could come out soon," he said quietly, more to himself than anything else.
That realization lingered as he continued to examine it. This was not entirely new. He had noticed faster recovery before, small things that were easy to dismiss in isolation. Bruises fading quicker than expected. Cuts closing faster than they should. After the gang war was when he really noticed.
But this was different.
This was undeniable.
Nolan leaned back slightly, his mind working through it with quiet intensity. The pattern was becoming clearer, and the conclusion was difficult to ignore.
"My healing is getting stronger," he murmured this was faster than before
There was no pride in the statement. If anything, there was a subtle tension beneath it, as if he was not entirely sure how to feel about the realization.
After a moment, he carefully rewrapped the bandage and stood. When he put weight on his leg this time, the pain barely registered. It was there, but distant, more like an echo than a warning.
He moved to the bathroom and turned on the shower, watching as steam began to gather while the water heated. Once it was ready, he stepped inside and let the warmth roll over him, washing away the remnants of the night.
For a while, he simply stood there, letting the heat loosen the tension in his body.
Inevitably, his thoughts circled back.
The conversation on the rooftop replayed in fragments, each exchange clearer now that the urgency had passed. He remembered the brief moment where it felt like they might find some kind of understanding, something they could build on.
It had not lasted.
Nolan shook his head slightly, water running down his face as a quiet disappointment settled in.
He had hoped for more from that conversation. Not agreement, necessarily, but at least a willingness to meet somewhere in the middle. The Court was not a small threat, and it affected more than just him.
But Batman did not see it that way.
Or perhaps he did, and simply refused to act on it alongside someone like Nolan.
The distinction hardly mattered.
Nolan exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly under the stream.
"It was never going to work," he admitted to himself.
There was no bitterness in the thought, only acceptance.
Batman had his rules, his lines, his way of doing things. Those things defined him just as much as Nolan's own choices defined him. Expecting him to compromise on them had always been unlikely.
Nolan lowered his gaze slightly, watching the water run down and disappear.
"In his eyes," he said quietly, "I am just another problem."
A villain.
Someone to stop.
The thought settled in fully this time, not as a question, but as a fact he could not ignore.
The water continued to fall steadily around him, unchanged and indifferent, as Nolan stood there and let that reality take its place in his mind.
After getting dressed, Nolan stepped out of his room and into the hallway, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he moved. He stopped almost immediately.
Two guards stood posted outside his door.
They straightened slightly when they saw him, alert but not stiff, clearly expecting him to notice.
Nolan raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "Did we increase security?"
One of the guards nodded. "Yes, sir. After the attack last night."
He hesitated briefly before continuing. "We know you're the boss, but… you're going to have to bear with us on this."
Nolan studied him for a moment, then gave a small, easy smile.
"I'm not complaining," he said. "I'm glad you're here."
The tension in the guard's shoulders eased slightly.
Nolan gave a short nod and continued down the hall, his pace steady as he made his way toward the conference room.
When he stepped inside, the room was already occupied.
Dre stood near the table, arms loosely crossed, while Terrell, Marcy, and Naima were seated or leaning nearby. The atmosphere shifted the moment Nolan entered.
Then Quentin slipped in.
The transition was smooth, almost invisible from the outside, but the energy in the room changed with it. His posture loosened, a familiar smile spreading across his face as his eyes moved across the group.
"Good," Quentin said as he looked directly at Dre. "You're still in one piece."
Dre smirked. "Doctor did solid work. I'll live."
Quentin nodded, satisfied, before glancing around the room again.
"So," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I'm guessing it was you four who decided to turn my hallway into a fortress?"
His smirk was easy, almost infectious.
Naima let out a quiet sigh, already anticipating the conversation.
"It was a group decision," she said. "You almost died last night. We got lucky."
She met his eyes directly, her tone firm.
"Please don't fight us on this."
Quentin scoffed lightly, though there was no real irritation behind it.
"I'm not mad, Naima," he replied. "I'm just a little confused why no one thought to ask me first."
Naima rubbed her brow, clearly tired.
"Because you were in a meeting with Batman all night," she said. "We didn't have the opportunity, and we weren't willing to take the risk."
There was a brief pause before Marcy coughed lightly into her hand, drawing attention.
"Also," she added, her voice careful but honest, "sometimes you can be… difficult, boss."
The room went quiet for half a second.
Then Quentin's smile widened.
***
Kane's study was dim despite the hour, the heavy curtains drawn just enough to let in slivers of gray light. The room itself felt suffocating, lined with old wood and quiet authority, but tonight it carried something sharper beneath it.
Frustration.
Jacob Kane stood near his desk, one hand gripping his cane as the other rubbed hard at his eyes. The motion was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to physically push the tension out of his skull.
"He's still alive," Kane muttered, the words low and venomous.
His hand dropped, and his jaw tightened as the thought settled again.
Kieran Everleigh was still alive.
Behind him, another figure stood near the edge of the room, watching carefully, measuring every word before speaking.
"We need a plan," the man said evenly. "If we walk into the next Court meeting like this, it will be a bloodbath."
Kane's head snapped up.
"I know that!" he barked, the restraint cracking instantly. The sharp sound echoed against the walls. "Do you think I'm blind to the situation?"
He turned fully now, anger rising to the surface as he leaned slightly into the cane.
"How hard is it to kill one man?" Kane continued, his voice tightening with each word. "One fucking man."
He paced a step, uneven but forceful.
"And that damn Batman," he added, frustration bleeding into something more dangerous. "How much does he know? Why is he everywhere we move?"
His grip tightened around the cane.
"He needs to be dealt with."
The other man did not immediately respond. When he did, his tone remained calm, almost deliberately so.
"You're filling your plate, Kane."
Kane's eyes snapped back to him.
"You accused the Court of harboring a mole," the man continued. "Then, without consensus, you moved Talons to assassinate Everleigh."
A slight pause followed, letting the weight of it land.
"That is what needs to be handled first," he said. "Before Batman. Before anything else."
Kane stared at him, breathing controlled but heavy, the anger still there but now tempered by the reality of what had been set in motion.