𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

𝟏𝟏: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐚

Cassandra walked out of her bedroom, drawn by the scent of vanilla coffee drifting from the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes, spotting Noa by the toaster.

"Good morning, sunshine. Want breakfast? I'm making Pop-Tarts," Noa offered, glancing over her shoulder.

Cassandra chuckled and sat at the counter. "You're not making them—you're just toasting them. The toaster's doing the work."

"Same difference," Noa shrugged as the Pop-Tarts popped up, ready. She set a plate and coffee in front of Cassandra. "How was your first night back?"

"It was fine," Cassandra said, taking a sip. "I'm actually looking forward to getting back to work with the MCU today. I want to help catch whoever did this to Gordon. What's the story on this Bane guy?"

"No one really knows much, except he had a fucked-up childhood and is now a terrorist. Classic villain origin story," Noa replied, sipping her own coffee.

"And we think he's in Gotham?" Cassandra asked.

"Apparently. Some officials were transporting him when he escaped," Noa explained.

"Who all knows?" Cassandra asked, taking another sip.

"Just the higher-ups—the police and government officials. The public doesn't have a clue," Noa replied, glancing at the pile of mail by the stove. Her eyes widened as she picked up a particular envelope.

"Well, well, well. One day back and you already have mail," Noa teased, turning to Cassandra.

"What? That's impossible—I haven't even updated my address," Cassandra replied, baffled.

"Well, someone found you." Noa handed over the letter, her eyebrow raised.

Cassandra took it, opening the envelope to reveal an invitation. Her eyes locked on the name at the top, and her jaw dropped. "No way."

"What is it?" Noa asked, intrigued, stepping closer.

"It's from Miranda Tate," Cassandra said, still in disbelief.

"Isn't that the woman you despise?" Noa asked. Cassandra nodded. Miranda Tate was one of Gotham's wealthiest, and unlike Bruce, who used his money to help, Miranda kept hers tightly within the upper class. She was as entitled as they came.

"What does she want?" Noa asked, eyeing the invitation.

"She's hosting a masquerade gala tonight...and she invited me." Cassandra's confusion deepened as she read.

"Invited you? Doesn't she hate you too? This doesn't make sense. Who invites someone they dislike to their party?" Noa said, frowning.

"That wouldn't be ideal," Cassandra muttered, skimming through the letter. "She says she'd 'love to see me there.'"

"Are you gonna go?" Noa asked.

"Why would I? This masquerade gala has nothing to offer me. Just billionaires and their rich friends," Cassandra said, tossing the letter onto the table.

"You know who's a billionaire, right? He could show up tonight," Noa said, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Cassandra knew exactly who she meant. "Why would he? You said it yourself—no one's seen him since I left. He's not even showing up to his own events."

"Isn't it worth a shot? If he's not there, you can leave. You haven't seen him in forever, Cassie. I know you miss him."

Cassandra glanced down at her Pop-Tart, thinking about last night's events.

"What?" Noa asked, noticing her change in demeanor.

"Well...it actually wouldn't be the first time I've seen him since coming back. Last night, at the hospital, he was there. Not as himself but as Batman."