It seemed strange that only a few months ago, he had set foot inside Arkham Asylum and found himself face to face with a girl who seemed to exist in a realm between black and white, who seemed a force of evil, then of good, and then everything in between. He could still remember their first meeting—her, seated against the wall with her eyes glancing briefly in his direction, her expression unreadable, her thoughts hidden behind the dark wall of her gaze. What had gone through her mind during that first moment? What had she seen in him? Just another billionaire mark, her ticket to escaping from Arkham? Or had she seen someone worth talking to?
Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter that Madeleine had left him before her escape from Arkham. He had folded and refolded it—first into a flower, then into the diamond, then back again—so many times now, following the lines that she’d originally made, that the creases were starting to fray, leaving fine tears in the paper. He read the words again.
Dear Bruce,
We’re not a very smart match, are we? I can’t think of a story where the billionaire and the murderer end up happily ever after. So let’s call us even: thank you for helping me get out of this place, and you’re welcome for the months of entertainment. I hope you’ll remember me.
xo,
MW
Bruce studied her words for a moment. When he’d first read it, he had found her note mocking, taunting him for being so foolish as to allow her to escape; now the words sounded wistful, even nostalgic, a letter yearning for something that would never be. A final note to him, in case their paths never crossed again. Maybe she had even done that on purpose. It was difficult to tell, with her.
In spite of himself, he could feel a small smile turning his lips up at the memory of their conversations together, the knowledge that she was still out there, somewhere, no doubt carving a new path for herself.
Maybe they weren’t a smart match, but fate had matched them anyway. And someday, in some future, perhaps they would be matched again. He wondered what he would say if he ever saw her again. He would tell her that he wished they could have met in a different world, without glass between them.
Finally, he refolded the note and put it carefully back into his pocket. Bruce closed his eyes, breathed, and listened to the evening settle in. Somewhere deep in Gotham City, he could hear the sound of sirens, defenders of justice beginning another night of work. The wind picked up, combing his dark hair back and pulling at the tail of his coat, stretching it out so that it almost looked like a cape.
From a distance, Bruce was almost certainly invisible, a tiny silhouette lost against the shadows of the concert hall and the city behind it. There were no lights in the sky for him, no faces turned up in his direction, no one calling his name. No one might ever know that he stood there, a silent sentinel watching over his city.
But looking out, all he saw was an ocean of light, the shimmering heart of Gotham City spread out before him. He didn’t know everything his future held for him, not yet, but he knew that whatever it was, it would remain here.
It looked like a place worth protecting.
It looked like home.
I don’t entirely understand how I lucked into writing a story about Batman, but I do remember how quickly I said “Yes!” to this project. My earliest memory of the Dark Knight is from Batman: The Animated Series; I would watch that show with my head propped up in my hands, imagining what it would be like to soar around a city and defeat bad guys. Batman was my introduction to a nuanced character—to the idea that no matter how little appreciation you get or how much the dark side tempts you, you still need to get up and fight the good fight. To me, that rings true now more than ever.
Batman has the Justice League, and in writing this story, I had one, too:
To Kristin Nelson, my wonderful agent and friend, who thinks of everything and then some. To my brilliant editor, Chelsea Eberly—thank you for being in the trenches with me as we steered Bruce Wayne’s story into its final form, by (technology) hell or high water. We made it!
I’m so grateful to the entire team at Random House for welcoming me with open arms and warm enthusiasm: Michelle Nagler, Jenna Lettice, Barbara Bakowski, Alison Impey, Dominique Cimina, Aisha Cloud, Kerri Benvenuto, Lauren Adams, John Adamo, Adrienne Waintraub, Tara Grieco, Kate Keating, Hanna Lee, Regina Flath, and Jocelyn Lange. Thank you, thank you, thank you all for your kindness, your invaluable editorial help, your design and marketing/publicity savvy, and your extreme awesomeness. To the wonderful team at Warner Brothers—Ben Harper, Melanie Swartz, and Thomas Zellers—and everyone at DC, thank you for entrusting me with the story of young Bruce Wayne and for giving me the chance to say “I’m Batman.” This will always be a highlight in my life.
To my fierce, brilliant Amazon of a friend, the inimitable Leigh Bardugo (aka Wondugo): this batty author couldn’t have made it without you. Thank you for everything.
My wonderful Dianne—this book was for you from the beginning, you smart lady, but you knew that. Thank you for indulging my Batman questions and having in-depth Bruce Wayne discussions with me over afternoon tea, as one does. Your brain is full of the best things!
To the fabulous Dhonielle Clayton, for all your insight, wit, wisdom, and friendship. To my dear Amie Kaufman, JJ, and Sabaa Tahir—thank you so much for cheering me on whenever I needed it most. I aspire to be each of you.
To Primo, my super hero of a husband—thank you for the many nights of Batman talk, for watching all the Batman things with me, and for being your awesome, fun, kind self. It’s like we love each other or something.
Finally, to readers and defenders of justice everywhere: thank you for being the real Dark Knights of our world. Super heroes inspire us because they represent the best that humanity can offer. They are our reminders that we, too, can bring about change and do good. You don’t need a billion dollars and a Batcave to be like Batman. You just need your brave, badass heart. Keep on fighting.
MARIE LU is the author of the highly anticipated Warcross, the #1 New York Times bestselling series The Young Elites, and the blockbuster bestselling Legend series. She graduated from the University of Southern California and jumped into the video game industry as an artist. Now a full-time writer, she spends her spare time reading, drawing, playing games, and getting stuck in traffic. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, one Chihuahua mix, and one Pembroke Welsh corgi.
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@Marie_Lu
The roaring crowd in the makeshift arena didn’t set her blood on fire.
It did not shake her, or rile her, or set her hopping from foot to foot. No, Selina Kyle only rolled her shoulders—once, twice.
And waited.
The wild cheering that barreled down the grimy hallway to the prep room was little more than a distant rumble of thunder. A storm, just like the one that had rolled over the East End on her walk from the apartment complex. She’d been soaked before she reached the covert subway entrance that led into the underground gaming warren owned by Carmine Falcone, the latest of Gotham City’s endless parade of mob bosses.