Like so much else this evening, the hug, however brief, is a surprise. He manages to squeeze her shoulder before she pulls away to stride toward his bike.

This will work. He'll figure it out.

And, honestly, his life could use a little saying something too forward at a stuffy dinner.

There's a short detour on their way out, closer to the water, where he lets go with one hand long enough to pitch a tiny package into the water--the remnants of her tracker, the suture kit, the alcohol swabs, all the evidence of them being in the warehouse tonight.

Then it's back on the road, through the outskirts of the city, then beyond. Quiet residential streets give way to quiet wooded roads. Eventually he turns onto a dirt road, little more than path through the trees. It comes out near a rock outcropping, a small cave mouth visible.

The entrance to the cave held in his mind, the one she glimpsed earlier.

They ride down and down and down and then there's a door, an archway hewn in the rough rock. He slows the bike as they roll out into a cavernous room, a natural cave buried far below the ground.

"Ah, you're back," calls out a voice from the interior. "How did-- what on earth?"

A man steps closer, a man with a stern face and confusion writ large across his features in this moment. He looks old enough to be Bruce's father. He may as well be even if he isn't in blood.

"What have you done?"

Bruce holds up a hand. "I had to. Alfred, I can explain, just give me a minute."