through the precinct’s roof access had only reinforced that sentiment. He’d nearly made it through the halls unnoticed when he’d spied the black kid, no older than fifteen, handcuffed to a bench in the corridor outside the holding area. Soaked through, his clothes clinging to his thin frame. The kid’s face was carefully blank, even if the tapping of his foot on the tile floor revealed the nervousness undoubtedly coursing through him. Rightfully coursing through him, considering the words Luke heard a second later as he ducked into a shadowed alcove.
What’d you nab him for? The question had come from an officer passing by.
Unaware of Luke’s presence mere feet away, the cop who had undoubtedly brought the kid in had answered, dabbing at the sweat on his ruddy face. Pot possession.
Caught in the act? the first cop had asked, pausing.
The ruddy-faced cop had smirked. Does it make a difference?
The question, the cop’s words, had Luke’s blood roaring in his ears.
His parents had explained to him from a young age that the world wasn’t always fair, had explained how—regardless of their wealth—there was a very specific way he needed to interact with the cops. They had told him it was for his own protection. That sometimes the police got ideas in their heads that had nothing to do with him but affected him anyway. Him and kids who looked like him.
Like the kid on the bench. As Luke snuck another glance at the boy, he wondered if the kid had been taught the same.
Luke emerged from the hall shadows and walked over to where the boy was seated.
The cops, almost at the end of the hall now, halted. Swore as they spotted him. He and Bruce never revealed their presence inside the precinct. Never.
What would those officers say if they knew the color of the skin beneath his suit? It hadn’t escaped Luke’s notice just how many of the guys behind bars looked like him, but he knew that the real criminals—the ones who truly posed a threat to Gotham City—those guys didn’t look like him at all.
Luke had made sure to calm his raging heartbeat, the anger simmering in his veins, before he said to the kid, You good?
Slowly, the kid’s head lifted. He scanned Luke from head to toe, starting to shake a bit, his jeans dripping onto the floor, but he said nothing.
So Luke asked again, signaling he was a friend, especially with the cops gawking and yet not daring to come closer. You good, bro?
The boy still said nothing. But his eyes went wide—wide as saucers as the question settled in. Luke gave him a slight nod.
He turned to the cops at the end of the hall. Get this boy a blanket. He’s soaked through.
The cops blinked at him, the ruddy-faced one’s skin going white as death. Then he hurried away. Luke waited until he returned, blanket in hand. Until it was around the kid’s shoulders.
Luke had marked the man’s badge—his name and ID number—as he ran past. And as Luke finally left the hall, he dialed up one of the best lawyers in the city, who just so happened to be one of Luke’s old prep school friends. She asked no questions, only promised to be at the precinct in twenty minutes.
Luke was still trying to shake off the encounter, to steady himself, as he asked Gordon, “Why not use the signal tonight?”
“Because it’s gone.”
Luke blinked, even though Gordon couldn’t see it. “Explain.”
Gordon stiffened a little, the older man sweeping his sharp gaze over Luke.
He’d stood in front of his own damn mirror enough to know how he appeared in the suit: more machine than man. Especially with the eye lenses that glowed the same pale blue as the bat-symbol across his chest. No sign of the human beneath—the way he preferred it. No way to guess who he was, who he loved. And against his enemies…The Jaws effect, he’d decided: it was way more petrifying not to get a glimpse of what lurked beneath the surface. To let the mind imagine the worst.
Gordon laid a metal tray on his desk. An object rolled and hissed within its borders—a bullet.
“Someone shot it out tonight. Right as we went to signal to you.”
Luke approached the battered, paper-covered desk and plucked up the bullet. “What was the crime they didn’t want me involved in?”
Gordon’s jaw tightened. “We don’t know for certain that they’re connected, but the Museum of Antiquities was hit tonight. Someone stole an