The night was cold and brisk, a sharp contrast to the sunny warmth of earlier that day. The vast yard was empty, the bushes rustling in the wind, the گھاس alive with the melody of crickets. Inside the house, the man was moving from room to room, the thick carpeting in the long hallways muffling the creaking of the floorboards under his feet. He was a well-dressed man, although age had not been kind to his skin, leaving him with a fair share of wrinkles. His presence was so gentle, his demeanor so kindly, that he was beloved سے طرف کی all of the children residing within the rooms that he was visiting. Finally he reached the end of the hallway, and softly opened the door of the last bedroom. The two girls laying on the bunk بستر inside the room, whose walls were a soft baby blue, turned to face him. The girl on the سب, سب سے اوپر bunk, whose long dark hair was strewn across the pillow, smiled sweetly at him. “Good night,” she کہا softly.
“Good night,” the man replied, smiling back, although the expression was not reflected in his dark eyes. He quietly turned out the light, leaving the room bathed in utter darkness. Softly, he closed the door, then breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He walked quickly through the hallway, down the three flights of stairs, and out the door, with a manner surprisingly brisk for a man of his age. The cold night hit him, and he smiled again, slipping on a black cloak. He reached into its folds and pulled out a pocket watch, flipping it open to unleash a burst of blue light. As it came into focus, it revealed a white silhouette, which rested on the blue background just above his head. He spoke.
“They are in the Wayne Manor, sir. They do not suspect a thing.”
“Thank you,” replied the figure. The voice was a low monotone, slightly raspy. “You have done well, Alfred.”