LOST ONE . DAMIAN WAYNE

one.

1. celebration

"ARE YOU LISTENING MISS?" A soft voice asked, tapping her shoulder. Marlowe blinked a few times, finally focusing on the man before her. Alfred Pennyworth. She'd known him since she was fifteen—four years now. He was Bruce Wayne's butler, and the glue that held the Wayne family together.

He is not a stranger, she reminded herself.

She plastered on a smile, pushing her hair from her face. "Yes. Dinner?" She stared at the man's white collar, not quite looking him in the eye.

"Is being served," the older man finished with a polite smile. His hair was the color of snow. His skin was pale, and his face was wrinkled with the knowledge of that could only come from many years of life. He was a nice man, and the most tolerable of them all. "Miss Kyle asked that you be in attendance tonight."

Miss Kyle. Selina.

Her mentor, she recalled.

Most times, Marlowe didn't enjoy seeing the strange woman. Selina always looked impossibly sad. If Marlowe could simply remember for both of them—for all of them—she would.

She didn't allow her smile to falter. "Will Bruce and his children be there?" It was a stupid question. This was their house— or at least it was Bruce's house still. She couldn't remember what had happened between the family, but she didn't know if she had ever known in the first place.

"Yes, but only Master Damian and Master Dick."

That was good. That meant less eyes on her. She hardly ever left her room in Wayne Manor anymore. There was no reason to.

"Lead the way," she told Alfred, gesturing beyond him. This place was far too easy to get lost in. The halls had become familiar after so many weeks. The place was visibly on the older side, but in a timeless way. It was always quiet, and Marlowe was unsure if this made her happy or not. It certainly allowed her thoughts to fester.

As she and Alfred grew closer to the dining room, she fixed her hair, pushing the locs from her shoulders. The long sleeved shirt she wore was less of a stylistic decision and more of a cover up of the new scars on her skin. They were ugly things—ugly reminders of what had happened to her a few months ago. The slightly raised skin was enough to make anyone squirm, even her therapist. Even Selina, but maybe that was because she wasn't used to seeing them decorate parts Marlowe's skin. The woman wasn't easy to read, and Marlowe didn't think she ever had been.

When she entered the large dining room, the smell of food overtook her senses. It was spread out on the left side of the long table. Any chatter had ceased with her arrival. Dick, Damian, Bruce, and Selina all watched her as she took a seat next to Selina and across from Damian. It was the only available place setting.

Bruce Wayne was seated at the head of the table with Selina on his left and Dick on his right. They acknowledged her. "Hello," she replied, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm surprised you came," Damian said lazily, his green eyes glinting under the lights of the huge chandelier. Her eyes met his, and she took in his dark hair that had grown to rest just above his ears. His face—albeit angular and attractive—was unsettlingly stoic. He didn't see or speak to her most days. His words were a reflection of this. If he hated her, she didn't know why.