The mornings came quietly, a soft hum of light slipping through Nolan's worn-out blinds, tracing lazy shadows across the floor. He rolled out of bed slower these days not out of reluctance, but out of comfort. His body still ached in places where fists had left memories, but the pain was duller.
Manageable.
He stood shirtless in front of the mirror, darkening bruises turned yellow at the edges, the sharpest cuts now forming clean scabs. With a towel slung over his shoulder, Nolan dabbed on ointment an antiseptic mix he picked up from a pharmacist . He winced slightly, pressing the balm into his ribs. Still tender, but healing.
The gym was quiet at sunrise. He liked it that way. Head down, hood up, earbuds in, no one talked to him. He did a full-body circuit: treadmill to weights, then back again. His endurance was returning. The punches he threw at the heavy bag didn't make his knuckles throb like they used to. His shirt clung to his frame differently now, damp and tighter across his shoulders.
Each meal was intentional chicken, rice, greens. No more gas station snacks or day-old street cart food. He cooked more now, or at least made the effort to assemble something resembling a healthy plate. He wasn't sure when he'd decided to start treating his body like it mattered, but maybe it was the first time in a long time he wanted it to last.
By the third morning, Nolan caught his reflection in the mirror again and noticed something new not gone, but fading. He pressed a fingertip to the healing bruise under his cheekbone and didn't flinch.
He used the afternoons for other work. Finalizing details on the Kieran Everleigh persona. Every profile had to be unbreakable. Every false address, donation history, background file he combed through them twice over. It was the most detailed fabrication he'd ever built. Kieran wasn't just a mask anymore. He was a man on paper, in photos, in donation records, and event guest lists. A perfectly placed ghost.
Each burner phone drop was made during his evening supply runs. He drove an old panel van through back alleys and quiet streets, the back loaded with bulk ramen packs, canned meat, vitamins, socks, and painkillers. He made conversation where he could. A hand on a shoulder. A quiet reminder they weren't forgotten. And quietly, he handed off the burner phones in folded brown paper bags to those who knew how to pass them down the line.
By the fifth day, he made his way to Sherry's safehouse. The granddaughter still wouldn't look him in the eye.
Sherry sat at the small dining table, knitting something loose and shapeless. "You look better," she said without lifting her eyes.
"I'm working on it," Nolan said, setting down a bag of food and medicine on the counter.
She glanced toward the back room where her granddaughter had retreated. "She still flinches when you walk in."
"I know."
"You scare her." Sherry lied not wanting to tell Nolan the truth incase it hurt him
"That's new I don't think I have scared anybody before."
Sherry gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. "No weirdos snooping around lately. Just the usual creeps. I keep the lights low and the back door barred."
He nodded. "Good. If anyone knocks that isn't me, don't open it."
Sherry looked up at him finally. "I've noticed your a lot more hands off in the organization."
Nolan nodded, "The system is working. Soon I will bring in something new that should help everyone."
***
The night of the Gala arrived quietly. Nolan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, buttoning a crisp dress shirt over his bandaged ribs. His body had healed enough that he didn't wince with every movement—but the soreness reminded him he was still alive.
He stared at his reflection. At the man he was. Then, slowly, he stepped aside.
Kieran took his place.
He finished tying the silk tie, double Windsor. Slipped on the tailored suit. His fingers moved confidently now. The bruises, mostly gone, were erased with a final touch of concealer, the illusion seamless. The designer cologne he dabbed at his collarbones made the air smell of amber and quiet money.
He smirked at himself in the mirror.
"Let's make a few hearts bleed," Kieran murmured.
Then he stepped out into the Gotham night, the lights of the Gala waiting.
***
The red carpet leading to Gotham's Glassridge Estate shimmered beneath the glow of a dozen chandeliers strung like constellations across the entry courtyard. A gentle breeze carried the soft sound of jazz music from inside the grand ballroom. The elite were already arriving draped in silk, velvet, and smug superiority.
Kieran Everleigh stepped from the sleek black car he rented for the night and buttoned his tailored navy suit with the ease of a man who'd worn it a thousand times though in truth, it was freshly acquired for this very evening. His shoes caught the light with every step up the marble stairs.
"Evening, gentlemen," Kieran said with his usual glint as he approached the two security guards standing at the front doors.
One of them scanned the list. "Name?"
"Kieran Everleigh. Should be under Gotham Historical Society's extended list. Bit of a late add-in, you know how it goes."
The guard glanced up, then smiled faintly as he found the name. "You're good to go. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Everleigh."
"I intend to," Kieran replied, tipping his head politely before stepping into the golden grandeur of the estate.
Inside, he melted into the crowd with the ease of a natural chameleon. Crystal chandeliers bathed the gala in warm light, and conversations floated like perfume through the room. The elite mingled, laughed too loudly, and sipped overpriced champagne like it was salvation.
Kieran had work to do.
He circled the room, charming his way through knots of Gotham's upper crust, always smiling, always listening.
"Have you heard about the revival project?" he said to one group, voice light and charismatic. "Old property downtown. Used to be one of Leonard Harrow's. Place was dying hell, almost dead. I bought it because I saw what it could be. Not for profit. But for people."
"People?" a woman with diamond-studded sleeves asked.
"The homeless, the forgotten," Kieran said with practiced sincerity. "That district has been sinking for years. I think this hotel could be something more housing, work, stability. A touchstone for rebuilding a community. But of course, I can't do it alone."
Several people murmured their approval. Cards were exchanged. Phones tapped against one another to save contact details. Kieran offered a modest smile every time someone promised to donate or to "consider helping in some way."
And then his smile vanished.
Across the ballroom, through the parting crowd, he saw him Bruce Wayne.
A shudder ran through Nolan's mind like a cracked wire sparking to life.
'That's..' Kieran said deep into his mind
'I know who it is!' Nolan panicked
'Why didn't you tell us he'd be here?' the Fighter growled.
'He wasn't on the list,' Nolan answered.
Quentin snorted. 'He's Bruce fucking Wayne. He doesn't need a list. Goddammit.'
Kieran's charming façade wavered, just slightly. A bead of sweat began to form at the back of his neck.
'Stick to the plan,' Quentin said sharply. 'You got what you needed names, contact information. Get out.'
Kieran started moving toward the side hallway that would lead him to the service doors and the safety of the estate's rear parking lot. He moved quickly, but not so fast as to draw attention.
Almost made it.
Then a voice called from behind calm, filthy rich, familiar:
"Kieran Everleigh?"
Kieran froze. The room didn't. Conversations still swirled, laughter still echoed, but time felt like it had stopped.
He turned slowly.
Bruce Wayne stood by the stairwell, a champagne flute in hand and a polite smile on his face. "I've heard about your charity project. That hotel you picked up interesting choice. Mind if we talk?"
Nolan's heart skipped in his chest.
'Abort abort!' Quentin hissed.
'Smile,' nolan said. 'Whatever you do, smile.'
Kieran took a breath, returned Bruce's smile, and started walking back into the lion's den.
—
A/N: bought a hotel for cheap with most of your money? Check!
No cash for reservations? Check!
Bruce Wayne shows up at the gala? Check!
Wow this plan is going so well.