When Alfred pushed open the study door, his expression was unusually complicated.
"Master Bruce," the old butler said, his voice perfectly steady, though Bruce could hear the helplessness and wariness threatening to spill out beneath it, "there are some... visitors at the Manor gates."
Bruce looked up from a report on crime statistics in Gotham's harbor district. "Who?"
"You had best see for yourself."
Outside Wayne Manor's heavy, ornate iron gates, five people stood beneath a streetlight in assorted outfits. Clearly, none of them belonged to Gotham's high society.
"Are you sure he'll see us, Clark?"
"He will. I'm sure he will."
Clark Kent wore a slightly oversized plaid shirt and was awkwardly adjusting the plain-glass spectacles on his nose.
It was his disguise, and admittedly, the outfit really did make him look as if he had just emerged from a Kansas cornfield.
He thought for a moment, then added with considerably less confidence, "...He will... right?"
"I'm not so sure." Barry Allen appeared beside him, still clutching a decorative ornament from the grounds. "Whoa, guys, look! This is a sixteenth-century antique."
"Barry?"
Standing behind Clark, Diana Prince wore a simple white suit, her long hair neatly tied back. She frowned at Barry reproachfully. "Touching your host's belongings without permission isn't polite."
"Okay, sorry. I'll put it back."
His silhouette flickered, and the object in his hand vanished.
"Do you guys really think he'll see us? Remember how he treated J'onn last time."
He couldn't help glancing toward the back of the group, where a Black military officer stood dutifully beside a muscular man in a leather jacket with his arms crossed. The officer's face was full of worry, while the muscular man looked thoroughly bewildered.
"Last time was over the phone," Clark insisted. "In person will be different."