• •
  Ra’s al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, and Damian Wayne sat in tense silence around the small council table, the only sound in the chamber being the faint crackle of the braziers lining the walls. They were waiting.

For her.

Damian had never imagined he would willingly return to Nanda Parbat, least of all with his father at his side. The mountain had been the backdrop to nearly every memory he had of his childhood—the endless training, the bloodless lessons in discipline, the suffocating expectations of the League. It was not a place he associated with comfort.

And yet, here he was.

Because somewhere beyond those doors was a girl he had only learned existed days ago.

His twin sister.

The knowledge still felt unreal. For years, Damian had believed he was the only child Talia had given to the world. The only heir. The only one expected to carry the weight of the al Ghul name.

He had been wrong.

His anger toward his mother and grandsire had been immediate and vicious. How could they have kept something like this from him? How many years had she existed just beyond the edges of his life without him knowing?

And then came the thought that angered him even more.

What had they done to her?

Had she been forced through the same brutal training? Had she been taught to treat pain as weakness and obedience as virtue? Had she spent her childhood trying to earn the approval of people who demanded perfection and offered little affection in return?

The possibility made his stomach twist.

But beneath the anger was something Damian wasn't quite prepared to acknowledge.

Hope.

For the first time, there might be someone in the world who understood him without needing an explanation. Someone who knew what it was like to be raised by Talia al Ghul and Ra’s al Ghul, to grow up beneath the watchful eye of the League, and to have an identity shaped for you before you were old enough to choose one yourself.

Someone who was, in some inexplicable way, exactly like him.

His fingers tightened against the edge of the table.

What would she be like?

Would she look like him? Would strangers mistake them for one another? Would she have the same sharp features, the same eyes, the same expression that made people assume she was perpetually judging them?

Or would she be completely different?

He found himself wondering about things that had nothing to do with bloodlines or combat.

What was her favorite color?

Did she have a favorite book?

What did she do when she was bored?

Did she actually enjoy living in Nanda Parbat, or had she secretly dreamed of escaping it?

Most importantly—

Would she want a brother?

Damian quickly suppressed the last thought.

He refused to admit how badly he wanted the answer to be yes.

The heavy doors at the far end of the chamber remained closed.

Damian stared at them, trying to convince himself that he was prepared. He wasn't.

For the first time in his life, he wasn't waiting for an opponent, an instructor, or an enemy.

He was waiting to meet his other half.*