Morning light poured through the wide front windows of the orphanage, warm and clean, washing the building in something that felt—for once—untouched by Gotham's usual grime. The street outside still bore faint scars from the attack days earlier, but inside, laughter had already reclaimed the space.
Nolan walked the halls at an easy pace, hands folded behind his back, his steps unhurried. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, mixing with disinfectant and breakfast food. It felt lived in now. Real.
One of the senior caretakers fell into step beside him as they passed a common room where several children were sprawled across the floor, arguing loudly over a board game while another group chased each other in uneven circles.
"Any trouble since the incident?" Nolan asked, his tone light but attentive.
The caretaker shook her head. "None at all. Police did their follow-ups, the press stopped calling, and things settled faster than we expected."
Nolan glanced through the doorway again, watching a girl with mismatched socks triumphantly declare victory over a boy twice her size. A smile tugged at his lips—genuine, unguarded.
"And the kids?" he asked. "Any lingering fear? Nightmares? We can bring in counselors if needed. I want to make sure they're taken care of."
The caretaker's expression softened. "We've been watching closely. Honestly? They're adjusting wonderfully. Most of them didn't see much, and the ones who did…" She smiled faintly. "They're Gotham-born. A loud noise and some chaos don't shake them the way it might elsewhere."
Nolan let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm. "Figures."
They stopped near the windows as the kids spilled out into the small yard, sunlight catching on their movement. For a moment, Nolan simply watched—content, relaxed in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
"Any word on adoptions?" he asked at last, carefully casual.
The caretaker shook her head again. "Not yet. But we'll let you know the moment there is one. The first adoption…" She smiled knowingly. "That's always special."
Nolan nodded, his smile widening just a touch. "Good. I'd like to be here for that."
He lingered a moment longer, eyes tracking the children as they played, the weight he usually carried easing—if only briefly.
For now, the orphanage was open.
And for the first time in a long while, Nolan allowed himself to simply enjoy that fact.
Nolan's phone vibrated in his pocket.
He glanced down at the screen, the warmth in his expression fading just a fraction as he read the message. A quiet sigh escaped him before he slipped the phone away.
He turned back to the caretakers, offering them a grateful smile. "Thank you—for letting me stop by. For everything you're doing here."
One of them waved the thanks away gently. "You don't need permission, Mr. Everleigh. You're always welcome here."
Nolan inclined his head, genuinely touched. "Still. I appreciate it."
He took one last look through the window at the kids outside, laughter carrying faintly through the glass. Then he straightened.
"I'm afraid I have to excuse myself," he said. "Some… troublesome business to attend to."
Their expressions didn't change—no questions asked. In Gotham, that kind of phrasing needed no explanation.
Outside, the car was already waiting.
Nolan slid into the back seat, the door closing with a soft, final click. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb, the sounds of the orphanage faded behind them.
He stared out the window as buildings passed, color draining from his mood with every block. The reflection in the glass looked heavier now. Older.
His hands trembled faintly in his lap.
Nolan noticed it, frowned, then closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. In. Out. Again. The shaking stopped.
The car rolled to a stop at a quiet intersection, the red stop sign looming ahead.
In one smooth motion, Nolan reached beneath the seat and released a hidden latch. The floor panel slid aside silently, revealing darkness below and the faint echo of water.
He moved without hesitation.
Nolan dropped down into the sewer, landing lightly, and pulled the panel shut above him. The mechanism sealed itself seamlessly, leaving no trace.
Above, the light turned green.
The car rolled forward, empty, merging back into traffic like nothing had changed.
Below, Nolan stood alone in the dark as the sound of rushing water filled the tunnel—and the weight of what came next settled fully onto his shoulders.
The sewer twisted and narrowed as Nolan moved through it, boots splashing softly through shallow runoff. He took turns without hesitation—left, right, down a sloping corridor where old brick gave way to poured concrete. This path had been walked before. Memorized.
A rusted ladder waited at the end.
He climbed, pushed open a heavy metal hatch, and emerged into darkness that smelled of dust and oil instead of rot.
The warehouse was quiet. Empty floor. High ceiling. One bank of lights on.
Naima Rez stood near the center, arms folded, posture rigid and alert. She didn't speak—she never did when things like this were happening. She simply nodded and turned, leading him deeper inside.
A chair waited beneath the lights.
A woman sat bound to it, wrists zip-tied behind her back, ankles secured. A hood covered her head. Her breathing was fast, panicked, shallow.
"The curator," Naima said quietly.
Nolan stopped in front of her.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then he reached out and pulled the hood free.
The woman screamed immediately, the sound muffled and frantic behind the gag stuffed in her mouth. Her eyes were wild, tears already streaking down her face.
"Stop screaming," Nolan said.
His voice wasn't sharp. It was exhausted.
She didn't.
Nolan closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, shoulders sagging. Slowly, deliberately, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby crate. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt until his forearms were bare.
"I'm going to remove the gag," he said quietly. "Please stop yelling."
She nodded rapidly. Desperate.
He pulled the gag free.
"I don't know anything," she sobbed immediately, words tumbling over one another. "I swear—I don't know anything, please—"
Nolan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who are you working for?"
"I—I don't know," she cried. "I just organize events, donors, outreach—I don't know who funds who, I swear—"
Nolan's hand came up and struck her brow—not hard enough to break skin, but sharp enough to snap her head back.
She gasped.
"Who are you working for?" he asked again.
"I don't know!" she screamed. "I don't—I don't!"
Another question. Different angle. Same answer.
"I don't know."
"Please," Nolan whispered, voice cracking just slightly. "I don't want to do this."
She shook her head violently. "You don't have to! You don't have to do anything—please—please—"
He crouched slowly until he was at eye level with her. His hands were shaking now, fingers flexing like they didn't quite belong to him.
"Just answer," he said softly. "Please."
She stared at him through tears, then something in her expression shifted—fear curdling into anger.
"You don't know who you're dealing with," she spat. "You think you're important? You think you matter? You're nothing. You're—"
Nolan recoiled like he'd been struck.
He buried his face in his hands. "I can't do this," he said, voice breaking. "I can't."
Relief flashed across her face. She sagged back in the chair, breath hitching into shaky laughter. "See?" she whispered. "You're not like them."
Relief flickered across her face.
Then Nolan straightened.
His posture changed.
The shaking stopped.
"But I can."
Quentin's voice.
His fist crashed into her face, harder this time. Her chair rocked.
She screamed.
Nolan's voice followed, distant and hollow. "This won't help."
Another strike.
"Answer," Quentin said calmly.
"I don't know!"
Nolan crouched again, staring at her like he was already somewhere else. "We will keep going please just answer the question, it would be so much easier."
Quentin moved in again.
The rhythm became unbearable.
Nolan spoke in flat, sympathetic questions.
Quentin answered silence with violence.
No escalation. No rage. Just persistence.
Eventually, something cracked.
"Fine fine! I'll talk just stop please just stop you fucking psychopath! I can deal with the pain not whatever this is just STOP!" She cried as if she were going crazy
Nolan sighed in relief, "Thank you, this means a lot." He couldn't believe his body just tortured someone
Killing yes, he had gotten used to. He had to. But this was a level he didn't think he could cross.
But they attacked children.
"I really don't know who they are believe me I swear to god I don't know who they are."
"Then why do you do things for them, you must know something."
"Because." She sagged, "Because they own me, my charity do you honestly think I do it for the community? Maybe when I first started then I started getting massive anonymous donations I don't know from who. I got greedy and started using the money for myself, they kept donating and donating it was so much money." She sobbed
"Sometimes I will get a random email or letter asking me to do things for them. At first I ignored it then my donations dried up, people stopped attending my events. I caved, I did what they wanted and the donations resumed." She sighed, "what was I supposed to do?"
Nolan grimaced, "You must know something anything about them."
She shook her head, "I just know they are connected. They have their hands in practically everything in this damn city. The only thing I can really give you is one time they used the wording 'the court will be pleased' but they never used the word court again. Thats all I know I swear."
Nolan nodded and gave her a gentle smile, "I understand, thank you."
At least he knew something now.
Walking over to Naima he hand he hand out and she placed a pistol in his grip turning he fired two shots.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that Naima." Nolan said softly before returning the pistol and leaving the warehouse
—-
A/N: happy new year. ironically Nolan doesn't understand the mental side got her speaking more than those punches. All aside didn't enjoy this but I felt like I needed to show this aspect of crime and needed violence. Reminder Nolan wasn't tapped into DC so he really has no clue who he is dealing with.