CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE MASK OF NOMALCY

Taylor sat stiffly in the high-backed leather chair across from Bruce Wayne. The study was dimly lit, the glow of the fireplace casting long shadows across the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that looked well-worn rather than decorative. A heavy oak desk sat between them, its surface clear except for a neatly stacked pile of papers and a single manila folder.  

Unlike his public persona—the billionaire playboy with effortless charm—Bruce here was something else entirely. Quiet. Calm. Paired with the controlled chaos around them, there was just enough disorder to appear natural but never truly out of place.  

She suspected that described Bruce himself more than he’d admit.  

“You’re staring,” he said, breaking the silence.  

Taylor blinked, pushing her thoughts aside. “You’re sure about this?”  

Bruce leaned back, hands steepled in front of him. “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t.”  

She glanced at the folder. Inside were documents detailing a life she hadn’t lived but was now expected to step into—college enrollment, fabricated records, a paper trail that made her a part of Gotham’s past in ways she hadn’t been before. A normal life, carefully constructed for her.  

“It’s not a new identity,” he continued, as if reading her thoughts. “Your name stays the same. Taylor Hebert. But as far as Gotham’s records are concerned, you’ve been here for years. Homeschooled, then enrolled in Gotham University.”  

Taylor exhaled slowly. “And you expect me to just… go to college?”  

“I expect you to take this seriously,” Bruce said. “What you do with the opportunity is up to you.”  

She frowned. “You’re trying to keep me out of trouble.”  

“I’m giving you a choice.” His voice remained even as he leaned forward slightly, but there was an edge to it. “You’ve spent every moment since you arrived in Gotham fighting a battle you weren't meant to. You need to see what life can be when you aren’t fighting.”  

Taylor clenched her jaw, staring at the folder. The papers inside might as well have been written in another language. The idea of normalcy felt abstract. Distant. On Earth Bet, she had spent years surviving, always moving, always fighting. Here on Earth, she had continued as usual. 

The concept of just… existing was foreign.  

“And if I don’t want that?” she asked finally.  

Bruce regarded her for a long moment, lips pressed in a tight line. “Then you’ll still have the resources to survive. But sooner or later, you’ll realize you can’t fight forever.”  

She hated that he said it like a certainty.  

. . . . .

Gotham University

Taylor felt out of place the moment she stepped onto campus.  

The hum of conversation, the easy laughter of students clustered together, the casual normalcy—it was a world apart from the streets she’d fought through. There were no guns being drawn in alleyways, no masked lunatics terrorizing civilians. No one here was planning how to kill someone and get away with it.  

At least, she hoped not. This was still Gotham.  

She had a schedule, a student ID, even a dorm assignment—not that she planned on staying there much. The idea of sleeping in a building surrounded by civilians put her on edge. 

Too many unknowns. Too many people coming and going at all hours, doors left unlocked, conversations whispered through thin walls. Even in Brockton Bay, she’d never been comfortable in places where she wasn’t in control of her surroundings. Here, in a city as dangerous as Gotham, the thought of lying vulnerable in a room where anyone could walk past, where she couldn’t rely on her swarm to keep watch, made her skin crawl.

Still, the room existed, and she had to pretend to use it. 

She’d gone through the motions—picked up the key, checked in, even left a spare hoodie on the chair to give the illusion of occupancy. If anyone asked, she could rattle off the dorm’s name, the floor number, the hall layout. 

But when night came, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping there. She had already scoped out alternative spots—rooftops with concealed nooks, abandoned buildings that wouldn’t draw attention. Places where she could keep her back to a wall and wake up ready to fight if she had to.

This was the life she knew. And no amount of attempt at normalcy was going to change that.

She adjusted the strap of her backpack with a deep breath, scanning the sea of faces. No one looked twice at her.  

For the first time in a long time, she was just another person in the crowd.  

And she had no idea how to feel about that.  

. . . . .

Her first class was Political Science, a large lecture hall packed with students typing away on laptops or scrolling through their phones. Taylor took a seat near the back, keeping to herself.  

The professor droned on about governmental structures, but Taylor found her mind drifting. Diagrams of checks and balances, discussions on legislative power—none of it felt real to her. Not in the way it should. She had watched a city unravel, seen authority figures reduced to nothing more than desperate men grasping for control. She had lived through the moment when laws stopped mattering and survival became the only rule.  

What could this lecture possibly teach her that she hadn’t already learned the hard way? The fragility of civilization wasn’t theoretical to her—it was a fact, one she had seen etched in fire, blood, and the broken streets of Brockton Bay.

At her side, someone nudged her elbow, bringing Taylor out of her thoughts. “Hey, you new? Haven’t seen you around before.”

Taylor forced down the instinctive flinch. “Yeah.”

She turned to see a short girl with dark hair streaked with blue highlights and a confident grin.  

Her expression brightened. “Figured. You’ve got that ‘what the hell am I doing here’ look. Transfer?”

Taylor nodded.

“I’m Alysia. Welcome to Gotham U.”

Taylor forced a polite nod. “Thanks.”

Alysia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “First-day survival tip? If you’re in Political Science, avoid Dr. Metzger’s class. That guy could bore Batman to sleep.”

Taylor blinked, unsure how to respond to that. “…Noted.”

Alysia chuckled. “You haven’t picked a major yet, have you?”

Taylor hesitated. “…Not yet.”

“Smart move. Keep your options open.” She tapped her pen against her notebook. “If you ever need to figure out which professors are worth your time, stick with me. I’ve got all the dirt.”

Taylor wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was friendly, open, normal. There was an ease to the way she spoke, like this was all just… simple.

Alysia didn’t wait for her to respond, already turning back to the lecture as if she’d decided Taylor was someone worth knowing.

Taylor sat there, the words lingering in her mind.

For the first time in a long time, someone had treated her like she was just another student.

And she still didn’t know how to feel about that.