Time passed in slow stretches within Arias's office. Conversations between him and Dr. June carried on—not casual, not heavy, just suspended.
He spoke little, usually while leafing through files or taking the occasional call, none of which were long, but all of which ended with an expression that silently demanded inquiry.
She asked. Not out of nosiness, but something more familiar. Something closer to loneliness. Each time, his answers came with the same indifferent certainty. Names. Logistics. Agreements. People she would never meet but who would almost certainly feel his reach.
Eventually, the distant, mechanical wail of the academy's siren echoed through the building.
**WOOOooo...**
It was 10 a.m. Break time.
Dr. June froze mid-sentence, her words halting just as quickly as her posture.
"….and at the time, I only had six months of field experience and—"
She paused, blinked, then glanced down at the silver watch resting snug against her wrist.
"Oh," she muttered. "It's 10 already."
Arias, still seated, stretched his arms above his head. His back cracked once, quietly. He yawned—not exaggerated, not theatrical. Just real. A strangely human gesture that punctured the mythic image even he didn't try to project.
Dr. June noticed. It was impossible not to. For someone who always seemed composed down to his blood cells, the stretch made him look... approachable. Briefly.
"I—uh, would you mind if I have my break here?" she asked.
It was a normal question. Utterly routine. But for the past several days, she'd vanished the moment the siren sounded. She'd spent whole mornings watching the time tick closer to 10, just to escape. Now she wasn't running. She was asking to stay.
Arias lowered his arms and leaned back into his chair.
"You're free to," he said. "Though I imagine my discussions here would be distracting."
The words weren't cruel. They were factual.
And somehow, they deflated her. Not into disappointment, but into recognition—of where she was, who she was speaking to, and what kind of man he really was.
A man of many arrangements.
She glanced at the floor once, reset her posture, and nodded stiffly. "I'll be going then…"
And with that, she turned and walked out, her modest figure disappearing past the parting door.
Arias watched her go.
There was no malice in his gaze. Just quiet observation. She was useful, yes—but she was also… reclaiming something. Maybe.
The door hadn't even sealed shut when it reversed.
**Ssshhhkk**
Barbara Gordon stumbled in, awkwardly hugging a stack of documents against her chest. She wore a short-sleeved white button-up shirt that clung modestly to her frame, cinched just enough to show off the soft curves of her waist and chest without trying to.
A navy blue skirt hugged her hips without riding too high, stopping just above the knee. Knee-high black socks and polished school-issue shoes completed the look, along with the round lens glasses that sat slightly low on her nose.
The whole ensemble was "academically terrifying" in the way only overachievers could manage.
She stepped briskly toward his desk and placed the documents down, then turned and made sure the door behind her was closed. After it shut, she paused. Briefly. Then crossed her arms over her chest before turning back around and saying—
"Here are the latest profile submissions from the other classes."
Arias's gaze had followed her casually, not lingering, but not ignoring either. He reached forward, picked up the top few pages, skimmed them.
"Excellent," he said with a nod. "Thank you."
Silence followed. Not the comfortable kind. She looked toward the ceiling, then to the wall, then to the floor.
Finally, after a subtle inhale, she turned fully to face him.
"Just what is the point of all this?"
Arias raised a brow, head tilting slightly. "What are you referring to, Ms. Gordon?"
Her frown deepened. She hated how he said that. Hated the way he addressed her like she was a middle manager instead of the student body president.
"Everything," she said. "Gotham nation or whatever you're calling it. And my father. Why you gave him that position."
Her arms tightened across her chest.
"Is this some ploy to bait me into trusting you? Because if it is, it's not going to work."
The air thinned slightly. Her voice didn't waver, but it cracked at the edges—more from restraint than fear.
Arias stared at her, expression unreadable. Then—
He chuckled.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't warm. It was brief and quiet and cut right through the posture she'd tried to maintain.
Barbara's frown hardened. "What's so funny?"
Arias stopped laughing, shaking his head once.
"It's nothing so delusional, Ms. Gordon."
Her hands flexed at her sides.
"By now," he continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "it should be clear what I want. If you can't figure out that much, perhaps I gave you more credit than you're worth."
The words landed like a slap.
Barbara blinked. Just once.
He'd always been civil. Distant, cold, sure—but professional. Until now.
Now it was condescension. Delivered like he didn't even care if she stormed out.
She did.
"Hmph!"
She turned on her heel and left in a brisk, overly dramatic stride, her skirt swaying with each step. Arias didn't move. His eyes remained where she'd been a second earlier.
And a small smile crept onto his face.
Before the door could fully close, it caught on something. Then reversed.
Nearithea poked her head in, arms drooping, mouth curled into a childish scowl.
"Daddy, this is sooo boringgg," she whined, stepping halfway into the office like a child invading a home office.
Arias barely turned his head.
"You may be strong, dear," he said dryly, "but you lack a lot of common ground."
Nearithea narrowed her eyes. "What does that even mean?"
———
Meanwhile…
The Batwing moved through the sky like a blade through gauze—quiet, untraceable, and too fast for the eye to follow.
Its wings folded slightly as it descended toward Mount Justice.
Inside, Bruce had already shed the tailored diplomacy of Leviathan's foreign envoy. He was Batman again. The gear felt heavier, but not unfamiliar.
But it didn't feel like a return.
It felt like a visit.
The Batwing landed with a low whrrrrm of turbines winding down. Steam hissed along the docking clamps as the landing gear made contact with the hangar floor.
He stepped out before the cockpit fully retracted, cape shifting with the breeze coming off the coolant vents.
Robin was waiting. Leaned against the wall by the hangar exit, arms crossed, his posture stiff in the way only teenagers mastered. His domino mask caught the light from the overheads, flashing a thin sliver of green before he looked up.
Batman didn't slow.
"Why aren't you in the meeting?" he asked, voice low and dry.
Robin scoffed. "It's more like a debate if you ask me."
The way he said it—quiet and bitter—made it clear the term 'meeting' wasn't fooling anyone.
Batman didn't comment. He just kept walking. Robin fell in beside him a moment later, boots echoing faintly in the narrow hallway.
They walked in silence. The kind that used to be comfortable, before it started feeling like avoidance.
Eventually, Robin asked, "Where's Barbara?"
"Gotham."
That was it.
No elaboration. No reassurance. Just a location.
Robin's mouth tightened. He didn't ask again. He already knew he wouldn't get more. That was the problem.
They entered the central corridor, the faint hum of the conference room growing louder with every step. Raised voices echoed off the polished walls. The kind of arguing that had long since left logic behind and started circling futility.
Inside, the familiar oval meeting room stretched out like a stage half-abandoned. The large holohgraphic monitor at the center flickered with muted security footage—drones patrolling Leviathan airspace, timestamped and endless.
Superman was standing, posture tight, frustration radiating off him in waves.
"You can't really be suggesting we let him get away with what he's done!?" he argued.
Across the table, John Stewart wasn't backing down. His left hand was flat against the table. His right gestured with controlled emphasis—his words hitting like blunt force.
"What? Risk making the Earth an even bigger mess than it already is?"
He exhaled sharply. "I'm not defending him, but throughout my life, the politicians in this country have always been worthless. Always taking. Rarely giving. At least with Arias, the change is real—for now."
Superman's eyes narrowed. "Do you even hear yourself? Where's the democracy in that? People deserve to choose!"
The room wasn't tense. It was exhausted.
Black Canary sat off to the side, fingers together under her chin, having already given up trying to mediate. Martian Manhunter's expression remained unreadable, but his psychic presence flared subtly, recognizing Batman's arrival before anyone else did.
Around the room, others were planted in various stages of frustration and fatigue—Zatanna with one heel bouncing under the table, Dr. Fate statuesque in silence, Hawkman and Hawkgirl exchanging sideways glances, M'gann shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Artemis seated low with her hood up, arms folded tight. Aqualad and Aquaman watched with military patience, like men waiting for orders they already suspected they wouldn't like.
Then the voice came.
Low. Commanding. Familiar.
"That's enough, you two."
The door to the room had barely stopped sliding shut behind him, but Batman's voice interrupted the argument.
Every head turned. John straightened, though his expression remained firm. Superman didn't sit. But he did stop talking.