Kieran walked back toward Bruce with the kind of smooth confidence that made it seem like he wasn't inwardly screaming. He slipped the smile back on like a well-fitted glove.
"Mr. Wayne," he greeted, extending a hand. "You honor my little project with your interest."
Bruce shook it, firm but easygoing. "It's not so little, from what I've heard. Word's been going around this evening about your hotel venture. Sounds… ambitious."
Kieran let out a soft chuckle, just enough humility to be charming. "Ambition might be the only thing keeping it from collapsing in on itself. But I'm hoping to change that."
People had already started glancing their way two men in tuxedos angled closer, sipping at their glasses a little slower than before. A woman with a pearl-strung clutch leaned subtly to listen.
Bruce continued, his voice just loud enough for the nearby ears to catch. "I'd like to contribute. Wayne Enterprises has a community initiative arm that could put something like this on solid footing. Employment, food programs, transitional housing. It's a good fit."
Kieran's smile didn't falter, but Nolan inside was reeling.
'Shit, shit, we can't let him in,' Nolan said.
'If he gets involved, he'll sniff everything out,' Quentin added.
'Then we let him down gently. Though he would likely sniff everything out anyways.'
"That's incredibly generous," Kieran said aloud. "Of course, I wouldn't want to waste your time. It's still early. We're in the bones-and-blueprints phase."
Bruce tilted his head slightly. "Then maybe this is the perfect time to get involved. Before the renovations are set."
A ripple of interest moved through the nearby guests.
Kieran's eyes flicked around the room. Some of the people he'd spoken to earlier that didn't seem interested were now watching with sharpened attention. If Bruce Wayne thought this hotel project was worth his money… then it had to be more than just charity. It could be an investment. A social steppingstone.
Kieran leaned in, just slightly, lowering his voice in a way that made it feel intimate despite the setting. "I'd love to talk more, but I'd rather not bore you here at a party with architectural specs and zoning permits."
Bruce smiled. "I don't bore easily. And I've got lawyers for the paperwork. Tell me what you need. I can wire funds tonight."
A small hush fell over the immediate cluster of people. Someone actually turned to another and whispered, "Did he say tonight?"
Kieran blinked, then laughed softly, like Bruce had just told a particularly flattering joke. "Mr. Wayne, I appreciate the enthusiasm. But I'd rather not involve anyone until I'm sure the groundwork is secure. I owe the project that much. It should be done in a day or two."
Bruce took a sip of his drink, eyes locked onto Kieran's with quiet scrutiny. "You don't strike me as the cautious type."
Kieran gave a little shrug. "You'd be surprised. In this city, a little caution can keep you breathing longer."
Bruce nodded once, slowly. "Then let's at least schedule something. A meeting. I want to see what you're building."
"I'd like that," Kieran said, smoothly producing a business card blank on one side, engraved with his alias and burner number on the other. "We can talk more once the dust settles."
As Bruce took the card, another man in a tailored red vest stepped forward. "Mr. Everleigh, if you're accepting support, I'd like to be considered as well. Your vision's… compelling."
And just like that, the dam cracked. Three more guests approached. A woman scribbled her number on a napkin. Someone else asked about naming rights. Kieran was surrounded.
Bruce watched for a moment longer, then said, "Looks like you're going to have a busy night."
Kieran smiled, effortless. "Let's just say the project's found its legs and it's all thanks to you Mr. Wayne."
Bruce turned to go, but not before glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't wait too long to set that meeting, Kieran. You never know how fast things can change."
And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.
Kieran let out a quiet breath and just barely resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from his brow.
'We dodged it,' Quentin muttered.
'For now,' the Fighter said.
'We need to be careful,' Nolan added. 'He's annoying, if Batman invest in the hotel we won't be able to get away with anything. But the others… they're buying in.'
Kieran turned back to his flock of new investors, face once again the picture of charisma.
"Now, where were we?"
***
The front door clicked shut behind him, and Nolan leaned against it, exhaling in one long, exhausted breath. The weight of the evening slid off his shoulders like the jacket he tossed onto the couch. His dress shoes thumped to the floor, one after the other, and he padded into the kitchen barefoot, undoing the collar of Kieran's pristine dress shirt.
He grabbed a bottle of water and downed half of it in one go. The adrenaline was starting to fade now, leaving behind the pounding of his heart and the burn of stress curled in his ribs.
"We pulled it off," Kieran said from somewhere in his mind, still buzzing with the afterglow of performance. "We had them hanging on every word. Even got numbers. We're in."
Nolan dropped into a chair at the small kitchen table. The room was dim, the only light coming from under the cabinet by the sink. It cast a soft gold glow, enough to see but not enough to feel exposed.
"Yeah, we pulled it off," Nolan echoed, rubbing a hand down his face. "But Bruce. Jesus, Bruce Wayne…"
"He was the wildcard," Quentin said flatly. "We didn't account for him showing up."
"He didn't belong on the list," Nolan muttered.
"He doesn't need to belong on the list," Quentin snapped. "He's Bruce Wayne. He goes where he wants. That was my mistake, should have figured he pegged our new identity easily enough."
"He knew we'd be there," the Fighter said, quiet and cold
"Because he always knows that's his whole schtick ," Nolan said
For a while, silence fell between them. Just the ticking of the cheap wall clock and the low hum of the fridge.
Then Kieran spoke again. "But he didn't call us out. That means something. He's watching us, yeah. But maybe we can still steer this."
Nolan leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring at his hands. They were still steady. That surprised him.
"We steer this right into the finish line," he said aloud, to himself, to them. "We get the renovations. We flip the hotel. We do it without giving away control to anyone, including him."
"And if he presses harder?" Quentin asked.
"Then we outmaneuver him," Kieran said quickly. "Like we did tonight. We give him nothing."
Nolan thought for a long second, then stood. He walked into the bathroom, peeled off the dress shirt, and stared at himself in the mirror.
The bruises had faded, turning green-yellow and dull. The cuts were still healing, but he'd been applying ointment religiously. His ribs didn't feel like they might snap anymore. And the definition was becoming a tad bit more striking.
He opened the medicine cabinet, dabbed more cream onto the fading marks, and gently massaged his shoulder. Then he leaned over the sink, breathing quietly.
"We're getting closer," he said.
"But we're not safe," Quentin replied.
"We were never safe," Nolan whispered. "That's not the point. I don't need safety. I need this win."
In the mirror, he watched his own eyes tired, hollowed out, but alive.
"We play this smart. We finish it. Then… then maybe we figure out what's next for us. I must say I feel so alive right now."
And with that, he turned off the bathroom light, walked back through the still apartment, and collapsed into bed.
This time, sleep came quickly