The heavy front doors of Wayne Manor opened with a smooth swing, revealing a grand foyer bathed in soft, warm light. The polished marble floors stretched out beneath an opulent chandelier, and the towering staircase curled upward like something from an old gothic novel.
Athena stepped inside, her dark brown eyes scanning every detail—the rich mahogany paneling, the oil paintings of generations past, the faint scent of aged books and polished wood. It wasn't the flashy, modern opulence she'd seen in magazines; this was old wealth, the kind that carried history in its bones.
Alfred moved with quiet precision, taking her backpack and setting it neatly by the entryway. "If you would follow me, Miss Blackwell," he said with his usual polite tone, "I'll show you to the living room. I thought you might appreciate some tea and a bite after your journey."
Athena nodded, her posture straight and composed, though she took in every doorway and hall as they walked. Wayne Manor was intimidating, but not enough to shake her.
The living room was just as she imagined it—grand yet understated. A sprawling fireplace sat at the far end, the flames dancing low, casting flickering shadows across the room. Plush armchairs and a wide leather sofa were arranged around an antique table, where a tray of tea and biscuits had already been set with military precision.
"Please, sit," Alfred gestured as he carefully poured the tea into fine china cups. "A blend I think you will enjoy—English Breakfast, with a hint of vanilla."
Athena took her seat on the sofa, smoothing the fabric of her clothes and adjusting her gold watch. The circular frames of her glasses caught the firelight, briefly hiding her gaze as she studied the room.
Alfred placed a plate of biscuits beside her cup and, with an elegant nod, added, "Master Wayne will be with you shortly. He tends to be... prompt when he wishes to be, and fashionably late when he doesn't."
Athena arched a brow, picking up her tea with careful poise. "So which is it today?"
"Hmm," Alfred gave a subtle smile. "I suppose we will find out. Please, make yourself comfortable, Miss Blackwell. I'll fetch Master Wayne. He would want to meet you properly."
Athena nodded, removing her glasses for a brief moment to rub the bridge of her nose. The long flight had been exhausting, but she wasn't about to let it show. Instead, she sat straight, hands resting lightly on her lap, every inch of her radiating calm composure.
From the shadowed window of Wayne Manor's east wing, Bruce Wayne stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the black Rolls-Royce glide through the gates. Even after decades of hosting events and public appearances, the sight of a newcomer to his home always made him quietly observant, almost calculating.
The car rolled to a slow, precise stop at the front steps. Alfred, ever the gentleman, stepped out first, rounding the vehicle with a smoothness that only years of discipline could produce.
Then, the girl emerged.
Athena Blackwell.
Bruce's sharp eyes narrowed slightly, taking in every detail: her tall, straight-backed posture, her black hair pulled into a tidy bun with a neat side part, her circular gold-framed glasses glinting against the dull gray sky. She moved with the kind of composure that belonged to someone older, someone who had learned the value of controlling their presence. Not like a skittish teenager, but like someone who already knew she would be underestimated—and planned to use it to her advantage.
The gold hoops at her ears and the elegant watch on her wrist were small statements, subtle but deliberate. He could almost see the analytical way her gaze shifted from the car to the sprawling front of the manor.
Not nervous, Bruce noted. Good.
Her expression was calm but unreadable, as if she had already decided how she wanted to be perceived before stepping out of the car. That told him enough about the girl's instincts. He remembered the answer she'd given to the scholarship's final question, the words that had stood out even among hundreds of applicants.
"Justice isn't paperwork. It's action."
There had been something there—a mindset that resonated, even if she didn't know why.
Down the hallway, just outside the living room...
Bruce stood near the doorway, watching through the crack of the slightly ajar door as Alfred approached him.
"Well?" Bruce asked, his voice low but carrying that weight of quiet authority.
Alfred glanced back toward Athena before answering, his tone deliberately measured. "She carries herself like someone twice her age. Calm. Observant. And I daresay she's been through enough to know better than to wear her heart on her sleeve."
Bruce's gaze remained fixed on the young girl sitting by the fireplace. Her posture, the subtle stillness of her face, the way she'd already taken in her surroundings—it all spoke of a sharp, deliberate mind.
"She doesn't look intimidated," Bruce observed.
"Should she be?" Alfred replied with a faintly amused expression. "You did invite her here, sir. And might I add—she seems far more prepared for this than you expected. I'd even go as far as to say..." Alfred's eyes twinkled knowingly, "...you might find her unsettlingly familiar."
Bruce shot him a look, but Alfred's smirk remained unbothered.
"Do you approve?" Bruce asked after a pause.
"I approve," Alfred said simply. "She's not the average scholarship winner. If I didn't know better, I'd say you've picked someone with enough grit to handle Gotham itself."
Bruce let out a quiet breath. "Then I guess it's time to see what she's really like."
Back in the living room...
Athena was calmly sipping her tea, the circular gold frames of her glasses catching the firelight. The tray of biscuits sat untouched on the table, though she'd taken a moment to admire the elegant china.
The door opened, and Bruce Wayne entered.
The door opened quietly, but even the softest sound carried weight when Bruce Wayne entered a room. Athena's gaze shifted toward him, calm and unflinching. He moved with measured steps—dark shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show that he wasn't a man who cared for appearances as much as people believed.
"Miss Blackwell," Bruce said in that deep, resonant voice, his eyes scanning her like an x-ray. "Welcome to Wayne Manor."
Athena set her teacup down, every movement precise, and met his gaze without hesitation. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce took a seat in the armchair across from her, leaning slightly forward, forearms resting on his knees. "The Wayne Scholarship isn't exactly... public knowledge. Not many people even find it, let alone complete it. How did you come across it?"
Athena didn't flinch. "I was looking for opportunities. Not the kind you see on every website or plastered across schools. I wanted something that meant more... something not just anyone could get into."
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. "And you think you deserve it?"
Athena tilted her head, just a fraction. "No. I know I earned it. I don't chase things I can't achieve."
Alfred, who stood off to the side, allowed the faintest flicker of a smile at her confidence.
Bruce leaned back slightly, studying her. "I read your answer to the last question. About justice. Not many fifteen-year-olds would say what you did. Do you believe those words, or were you just trying to stand out?"
Athena's dark brown eyes—one warm, one cool, though the difference was subtle—locked onto his. "I don't waste time writing things I don't mean. Justice isn't a shiny word to me. It's... flawed. But I believe people can fix flaws if they stop waiting for permission."
Bruce's expression didn't change much, but there was a flash of recognition behind his eyes, like he saw something familiar in her words. "Permission is overrated," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Athena didn't look away. "I agree."
Alfred cleared his throat softly. "Would you like more tea, Miss Blackwell?"
She gave him a small nod, though her focus remained on Bruce.
"You're calm," Bruce said after a pause, almost as if testing her stillness. "Not many people walk into Wayne Manor and hold their ground."
"Should I be nervous?" Athena asked, arching a brow.
Bruce smirked, a fleeting expression. "Most people are."
"Well," Athena said with a knowing smile, her eyes narrowed and relaxed as picked up her tea again, "I'm not most people."
.
.
―1371 words.