Ryker hated tuxedos.
Not because they were uncomfortable.
Because they were predictable.
He adjusted the cuff of his tailored black suit in the mirror of Selina's penthouse dressing room, studying himself longer than necessary.
Tanned skin against sharp black fabric.Messy black hair deliberately untamed.Green eyes clear, sharp, confident.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Handsome devil," he muttered under his breath.
It wasn't arrogance if it was accurate.
He was half Puerto Rican through his mother. Half Australian through his father. The accent never stuck. He sounded Gotham through and through.
From the doorway, Selina Kyle crossed her arms.
"Are you admiring yourself or waiting for applause?"
He smirked. "Both."
She rolled her eyes, but there was pride there too.
Tonight mattered to her.
She wasn't just a former cat burglar with expensive taste. She was a gallery owner. An art dealer. A quiet investor in fashion and real estate. A philanthropist.
This gala was for underprivileged Gotham youth and endangered wildlife conservation.
She understood both causes intimately.
She grew up with nothing.
She knew what Gotham took from kids who didn't have safety nets.
"This is the first event I'm bringing you to," she said as they stepped toward the elevator.
"I won't embarrass you," he replied smoothly.
"That's what worries me."
A black SUV waited downstairs.
They slid into the back. City lights streaked past tinted windows as she adjusted her gloves.
"Smile. Shake hands. Don't antagonize billionaires," she instructed.
He leaned back casually.
"Relax. I clean up well."
She sighed.
She knew that.
—
The venue glittered.
Crystal chandeliers. Live quartet in the corner. Champagne flowing like it was a birthright.
Gotham's elite clustered in designer suits and silk gowns, smiling with polished teeth.
Ryker watched his mother shift seamlessly into host mode.
Confident. Graceful. Magnetic.
He chuckled quietly.
He had stolen from at least three of these people.
His mother from two.
He drifted toward the back bar.
A cluster of women stood there. Elegant. Older than him. Dresses cut daringly despite the charity theme.
He ordered a drink.
The bartender didn't question it.
Money and confidence erased age.
He slipped into conversation easily. Soft laugh. Leaning slightly against the bar. Letting his tone dip just enough.
They touched his arm when they laughed.
He let them.
He didn't overplay it.
He never overplayed it.
Across the room, Selina was mid-conversation when she felt something tug at her attention.
She turned.
And saw him.
Surrounded.
Leaning casually, drink in hand, looking like he'd walked off a magazine cover.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Oh absolutely not."
Beside her stood Bruce Wayne, looking infuriatingly composed in his tuxedo.
He followed her gaze.
"And who might that be?" he asked lightly.
She smirked.
"My son."
Bruce's brows lifted just slightly.
Near him stood Dick Grayson, dressed sharp but visibly uncomfortable in the setting.
"You have a kid?" Dick blurted before catching himself.
Selina laughed at their synchronized surprise.
"Oh, don't look so scandalized."
Bruce studied the boy by the bar.
Messy black hair. Green eyes. Easy confidence.
There was something… deliberate about the way he held himself.
"What's his name?" Bruce asked casually.
"Ryker."
Bruce filed that quietly.
Especially when she added, "He's attending Gotham Academy now."
Interesting.
Dick glanced again toward the bar, watching Ryker accept another laugh from the group of women.
"He seems… comfortable," Dick muttered.
Selina scoffed softly. "He thinks he's Hugh Hefner."
Bruce smirked faintly. "You sure he didn't get that from you?"
She shot him a look.
"Careful."
Dick, sensing opportunity to escape billionaire small talk, decided to approach someone closer to his age.
He crossed the floor toward the bar.
Ryker saw him coming.
Ignored him deliberately.
Finished his sentence mid-flirt.
Dick stepped in anyway, offering a polite hand.
"Dick Grayson."
Ryker shook it.
"Ryker."
Their grips were measured. Firm.
Dick felt something odd in the handshake. Solid. Dense. Stronger than expected.
"First time at one of these?" Dick asked.
"Unfortunately," Ryker replied with a slight grin.
They exchanged light conversation.
Dick was sharp. Quick. Observant.
Ryker respected that.
But he wasn't about to abandon three beautiful women to chat with a guy all night.
He smoothly redirected attention back toward the women.
Dick sighed, but laughed.
Reminded him a little of Wally.
Except Ryker was pulling this off significantly better than Wally's usual crash-and-burn attempts with Artemis or M'gann.
Fine.
If that was the vibe, Dick could adapt.
He joined the energy.
The rest of the evening flowed like that.
Ryker collected numbers. Promised vague after-parties. Delivered charming goodbyes with a wink and a kiss to the hand.
Eventually, Selina called him over.
Bruce stood beside her.
Ryker approached with calm confidence.
He noticed immediately how comfortable Bruce and his mother looked near each other.
Filed it away.
Bruce extended a hand.
"Bruce Wayne."
"Ryker," he replied smoothly, shaking it.
Bruce held his gaze a fraction longer than necessary.
Assessing.
Ryker smiled slightly.
Unbothered.
They exchanged polite conversation. Philanthropy. School. Future ambitions.
Bruce's mind ticked quietly.
Selina's son.
Gotham Academy.
Age aligns.
He pushed the thought aside for now.
When the event finally wound down, Selina and Ryker returned to the SUV.
The doors closed.
She turned slowly toward him.
"You were drinking."
He shrugged.
"I paced myself."
"You're fifteen."
"Biologically durable."
She narrowed her eyes.
"And those women."
He smirked. "They seemed happy."
"They're twice your age."
"So?"
She exhaled sharply.
"You could do better."
He blinked.
"Define better."
She stared at him.
He leaned back casually.
"Also, interesting proximity you had with Mr. Bruce Wayne tonight."
She froze.
"That's different."
"Is it?"
She folded her arms.
"He's… complicated."
"So you flirt with complicated billionaires," he teased lightly.
"And you flirt with half of Gotham's wine list."
He chuckled.
Then, more seriously beneath the humor:
"I don't trust heroes."
She looked at him carefully.
"Not even the good ones?"
"They seem stuck up," he replied. "Or like they've got a ten-foot pole up their ass."
She barked a laugh at that.
"Imagine saying that to Superman."
He smirked. "He'd probably give a speech."
They both laughed.
The tension eased.
By the time they reached the penthouse, the night felt lighter.
He loosened his tie.
She kicked off her heels.
"Bed," she ordered.
"Yes, mom."
He headed upstairs.
And for a brief moment before turning off his bedroom light, Ryker stared out at Gotham's skyline.
Gala lights still glowing in the distance.
Rooftops beyond that.
Somewhere out there—
Wild Claw waited.
But tonight?
He let the city rest.
And he slept.