I don't know whether Stephanie sent Damian my way, or if she's possibly picked tonight as an evening to stay far from the hut, waiting for the inevitable reunion between Damian and myself to take place, hoping to avoid whatever whatever fallout may occur. Somehow, the possibility of Stephanie keeping her distance from the situation doesn't seem altogether unlikely. For her to care that the conversation isn't forced, or shaped by the presence of a third person in the hut. Regardless, I feel relief in knowing that Damian alone stands at the door, and I sit up on the sofa, resting my elbows on my knees. Wishing I had the right words. Wishing I knew how to even invite him inside.

Practicality always seems to outweigh.

"Changed my mind once it became clear that I'd have to cross the terrain as Bruce Wayne, rather than attracting more attention to the cowl. Or calling attention to you," I reply, refusing to rule out the possibility that some people's eyes may be as sharp as our own. "This was faster."

I glance down at my shirt. "The source of the island's clothing wasn't very forgiving," I add, tone wry, before I glance up to meet my son's eyes. "Why don't you come inside, Damian?"