Dusk receded inch by inch from the edge of the skyline, and Gotham's night grew out of the shadows.
Bruce Wayne stood before the full-length mirror in his dressing room, his bow tie already fastened above his black tailcoat. Alfred stood half a step behind him, holding an overcoat.
"Master Bruce, your recovery has progressed better than expected. But according to the Police Department, Mr. Jervis Tetch appears to have returned to Gotham and is suspected of murdering a middle-aged woman. For tonight's banquet, should I... have the car ready in advance?"
"Yes."
Bruce rolled his shoulders. "Natalia's concert is at nine. Until then, I have about an hour."
"But given Mr. Tetch's cunning, an hour may not be enough to find him..."
Alfred did not finish. Batman was not omnipotent, either. All Alfred could do was provide as much support as possible behind the scenes.
Bruce glanced at his phone screen. Natalia had sent a message half an hour earlier: "Rehearsal ran late. I'm going straight to the backstage dressing room. See you at the hotel."
He replied, "All right," then slipped the phone into his pocket.
She was a clever young woman-beautiful, elegant, passionate, independent. Bruce thought he might truly have fallen in love with her. He had even let his other self take her on dates under cover of darkness to satisfy her curiosity.
"Alfred, if I'm late coming home tonight..."
"I'll leave the decanter on your bedside table, Master Bruce. As always."
Bruce smiled faintly and chose as understated a car as possible. Fifteen minutes later, his Lamborghini Diablo GT stopped at the Gotham Royal Hotel's VIP entrance. The instant the doorman opened the door, flashes erupted beyond the security cordon, and reporters shouted from behind the barriers: "Mr. Wayne! What do you think of the