INT. ST. JUDE'S CATHEDRAL – HOURS LATER – NIGHT
Rain continued to pour over Gotham, washing away blood but not the memory of it.
Inside the cathedral, Commissioner Gordon stood just beyond the altar, trench coat soaked, hands in his pockets. Around him, GCPD officers worked under low whispers — photographing bullet holes, tagging blood trails, loading wounded suspects into ambulances.
Then the stained-glass shadows shifted.
From the rafters above, Batman dropped down, landing silently behind Gordon.
"What happened here?" Batman asked, voice low and steady.
Gordon didn't flinch. He was used to it.
"Got a call about gunshots. Locals heard screaming, saw someone fleeing through the east alley. By the time we got here…"
He pointed to the bloodstained marble.
"James Moore. Dead. Shot clean through the skull — twice. The other men… they're all wounded but alive. Some kind of assault, but no security footage. Power cut."
Batman scanned the scene, noting the blast marks, the tight grouping of bullet holes, the precision. His jaw tightened.
This had Grayson's fingerprint. Not the man himself—but his refusal to kill except when no other option existed.
But two shots to the head?
That wasn't him.
That was someone else.
Someone Court-trained.
"Any sign of who did it?" Batman asked.
Gordon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Priest says it was 'demons in masks.' He's not talking beyond that. Other witnesses scattered. No one's naming names. No one wants to."
Batman's eyes narrowed.
The Court was keeping things clean — just clean enough to scare, but not so messy that GCPD could act.
"I'll look into it," Batman said, turning away from the altar.
Gordon called after him.
"You know anything about this? This… war starting to brew again?"
Batman didn't stop.
"Not yet."
---
EXT. GOTHAM ROOFTOPS – MINUTES LATER
Batman launched his grapnel line and shot into the sky, soaring across the rain-slicked rooftops until he landed on the spire of an old clocktower.
There, beneath the storm and silence, he activated his comm.
"Alfred."
[Comm crackles to life.] "Yes, Master Bruce?"
"There was an attack at St. Jude's. James Moore is dead. Execution style. The others were maimed. It was the Court."
Alfred's voice turned grim.
"I assume Master Richard was involved?"
"He was. But he's still playing both sides. Carefully. For now."
"Do you wish for me to inform the family?"
Batman stood silent for a moment, lightning flashing across the skyline.
"No," he said at last. "Not yet."
"Then what should I tell them when they ask about the church?"
Batman's jaw set.
"Keep all mention of the Court away from the family. From Barbara especially. If they find out Dick's in deeper than he should be… we risk losing him—and them."
"Understood."
The comm went silent.
Batman remained motionless atop the spire, watching the lights of Gotham flicker through the rain.
Somewhere down there, Dick was dying one piece at a time.
And Bruce Wayne had sent him into the fire without telling anyone why.
INT. COURT LAIR – NIGHT
The heavy stone doors creaked open as Dick and Sam entered the dimly lit sanctum of the Court. Their suits were damp from the rain, their movements steady but tired.
Inside, the Grandmaster stood waiting, arms folded behind his back, Frank at his side, eyes watching like a hawk.
The Grandmaster gave a slow, pleased nod.
"Clean execution. Swift judgment. You've done well."
Sam gave a tight nod, expression unreadable beneath his mask.
Dick said nothing. Just inclined his head with practiced obedience. The Grandmaster didn't need to know how close he came to hesitating. Again.
"Rest. Regroup," the Grandmaster said. "You've earned it. For now."
Dick turned and left without another word.
---
INT. DICK'S ROOM – MOMENTS LATER
Dick opened the door to his quarters slowly, his muscles still tight from the church shootout, his mind heavier than it had been in weeks. All he wanted was silence. Solitude. A moment to breathe.
But the moment the door clicked shut behind him, he froze.
There, in the soft amber glow of the room's overhead lanterns, Evelyn sat at the small corner table. She was dressed simply, but wore her owl mask, elegant and ivory-white, a subtle challenge etched into its porcelain lines.
A chessboard was set up between them—pieces already arranged for a fresh game.
Evelyn didn't look up at first. She reached forward and moved her pawn.
"E4," she said calmly. "I figured you'd be back by now."
Dick didn't respond right away. He stepped further in, setting his gun on the shelf, taking in her presence with a silent breath. He removed his own mask and placed it down gently beside the board.
"How did you get in here?" he asked, cautious.
Evelyn tilted her head playfully.
"The Grandmaster's daughter has her ways. Besides, you left your vents unsecured."
Dick glanced at the board. She had taken white.
"You always break into rooms just to play chess?"
"No," she said, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. "But you looked like someone who could use a game… or company."
There was something in her voice. Not flirtation—not exactly. Just curiosity. A need to understand the man behind the calm mask.
Dick slowly pulled out the chair across from her and sat.
He moved a piece.
"C5 Sicilian Defense."
Evelyn smirked behind the mask.
"Predictable. But bold."
They played in silence for a few moves, the soft clicks of wood against wood filling the quiet.
After a while, Evelyn spoke again—softer now.
"You kill people today?"
Dick's hand froze on his next piece. His eyes lifted to hers.
"I did what I had to."
Evelyn didn't press.
Instead, she moved her knight and leaned back.
"Then you're already more like them than you think."
Dick didn't respond.
Not yet.
But inside, he knew she was wrong.
He wasn't like them.
He couldn't be.
He wouldn't be.
Because if he became what the Court wanted…
…then there'd be nothing left for Barbara to come back to.
And he wasn't ready to lose her.
Not yet.
The chessboard lay between them, the pieces shifting as strategies formed and broke in quiet. The lantern above cast soft shadows, flickering gently over Evelyn's masked face.
She reached forward, moving her bishop diagonally.
"Check."
Dick leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the board.
"Not bad," he said, moving his king out of threat.
Evelyn's fingers lingered near the pieces, then paused.
"What do the pieces mean to you?"
Dick looked up, eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"
She tapped a pawn lightly with her finger, not enough to move it—just enough to make it stand out.
"The pawns. You think of them as expendable?"
"No," Dick said instantly. "They're... the foundation. The people you protect. The ones you lead. The ones who follow you—because they believe in something."
Evelyn nodded slowly, as if weighing his answer. Then she moved her hand to the knights.
"And these?"
Dick's gaze lingered on the horses.
"Brothers. Partners. People who've fought beside me. Gotten me through hell."
"Family?"
He didn't answer directly.
She moved next to the rooks.
"The towers?"
"The ones who stand by me no matter what. The kind of people who stay when everyone else runs. Pillars."
Evelyn's voice softened a little as she touched the bishops.
"And these?"
Dick hesitated—just briefly.
"Mentors," he finally said. "The ones I looked up to. Trusted. Even when I didn't agree with them."
Evelyn sat back, watching him from behind her mask.
Then, with a little flourish, she held her hand over the queen.
"And what about this one? The queen? Always protecting the king. Strongest on the board. Dangerous. Loyal. Mysterious."
Dick's eyes met hers. She still hadn't moved the queen.
"I don't know who she is," Evelyn said softly. "But I know there is someone."
He didn't speak.
Didn't confirm.
Didn't deny.
But he didn't need to.
The way his eyes faltered. The tension in his jaw.
It told her everything.
Evelyn gave the smallest of smiles behind her mask. A quiet, knowing sort of smile.
"She must be something," she said. "To still matter while you live in a nest of wolves."
Dick moved a pawn forward.
"She's the reason I haven't become one."
That silenced the room.
For a while, they just played.
Piece by piece.
Move by move.
But now, the board between them wasn't just a game.
It was a map of who Dick Grayson was—and Evelyn had just read every line.
Dick moves his rook carefully, deliberately.
The silence hums for a beat before he finally breaks it.
"Why are you so interested in me, Evelyn?"
Evelyn leans back, mask tilted just enough for him to feel the weight of her stare. Her fingers toy with the queen piece again—spinning it slowly on its square.
"Because I need someone I can trust," she says. "Someone who's not a mindless weapon or a legacy case like Sam. Someone who thinks. Plans. Feels."
She places the queen down with a soft click.
"Someone who knows how to lead… when the old kings are gone."
Dick arches a brow.
"You're planning to overthrow your father."
Evelyn smiles—just slightly. A smile made of knives.
"My father has no vision. He wants to conquer Gotham, as if ruling a corpse of a city means power."
She looks up sharply.
"I want the world."
Her hand drifts from the queen to the king.
"And I need someone beside me who doesn't just follow orders—but bends them when needed. You see what the Court is. What it could be. That's rare."
A long pause.
Then she leans forward, voice a low whisper through the mask.
"So tell me, Grayson… are you going to be my king—my equal?"
She nudges a pawn forward.
"Or are you just another pawn… waiting to be sacrificed and replaced?"
Dick doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch.
But behind the mask of calm, his mind races.
Because this?
This wasn't just an offer.
It was a test.
A warning.
And a door.
The kind of door you could only walk through once—and never come back from.
"I'm not a pawn," he says quietly, eyes locked on hers.
He picks up his knight and places it directly beside her queen.
"But I don't serve anyone's throne either. Not blindly."
Evelyn watches him in silence.
Then she smiles again—this time, slower. More dangerous.
"That's what makes you interesting." Evelyn smirks behind the mask as she gets up and leave, leaving dick with much to think about.