AN: Woohoo – new readers! That's always such fun for me. Although, new readers, if it's not already clear: This story is a sequel to one called "How To Fall Apart Gracefully," and is a direct continuation from that. So if you get confused at all, the answers are probably in there. To answer your questions: Marina: Yes, she can 'read minds,' but it's not quite that simple. There's a flashback coming up in chapter 5 that will explain more about what she can do. Devryn: Thanks – I hope you feel better soon! Ring: Yes, more reunion, but first we're going to time-swap again. That'll happen with every chapter until the two timelines catch up to each other. On that note, back to Wayne Manor!

2: Now.

The glittering crowd parted before me like water. Their apprehension was intoxicating; I swelled, powerful, ominous, larger in their minds than I was in their eyes. My target was at the top of a salmon-colored marble staircase, standing next to an ice sculpture surrounded by chilled hors d'oeuvres. He wore a simple black tuxedo, classic and sharp; dark hair slickly styled, back straight; one hand was in his pocket, and the other gestured with practiced sophistication as he chatted with his guests.

His conversing partner, a waif-like redhead in a strapless gown, eyed me over his shoulder and pursed her tiny pink mouth. He turned, and his handsome face darkened. He whispered something to the redhead; she pouted and shot me a jealous glare, then disappeared around the wide balcony. Bruce Wayne, the debonair aristocrat, the infamous playboy and secret vigilante protector of Gotham, came down two steps to meet me. Near-murderous rage flared up inside him, but he kept it inside, tamed it, and rearranged it into insulted pride. I smiled.

"What are you doing here?" he asked thickly. "How did you get inside?"

"You invited me." I handed him my invitation.

He snatched it from my hand, read the name, and gave a short, mirthless laugh. "You're Alexis Warwick?" he asked, equally impressed and irate.

"For now," I said. "Master Wayne, I'd like a word with you if I may. In private."

"You really think I'm going anywhere with you, in front of all these people? Even though you somehow managed to get past security with that invite, there's no way they won't recognize you. The police will be here in minutes."

"And when they arrive, I'll go quietly. I only need a moment of your time."

His threat was empty, and we both knew it. Police didn't worry me. Perhaps he'd been hoping that, in the mayhem of their arrival, he could disappear into his transformation and then remove me from the premises himself. My cool lack of concern troubled him. It meant there would be no mayhem.

He took my arm roughly above the elbow and steered me to an outdoor patio overlooking the little wood behind the house. I winced from the pain where he grabbed me, but that would pass. He needed to feel in control somehow; I wouldn't deny him that. Onlookers watched us curiously, but at a sharp nod from my companion, they dispersed without a word.

"All right," he said, releasing me. "Make this quick."

"First," I said, "let me say that I am sincerely sorry for your loss." His features tightened into a scowl and he turned away from me. "I have lost those I loved before, and I know too well how painful it can be."

"No," he muttered hoarsely. "This isn't something I'm interested in discussing with you. What do you want? Get to the point, please."

"I only wanted you to know that I bear you no ill will."

"Then what is this about?"

"Your mask." I sensed the sharpened focus of his mind, although it did not show on his face; he was listening. "I don't care for it, sir. It doesn't suit you."

"I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Not that mask," I said. "This one." I reached up and touched his face with a gloved finger; he shied away. "It's not you at all, Master Wayne."

He nodded slowly. "All right," he said. "So you're planning to expose me. He's tried that before, you know. It won't work."

"Expose you?" I laughed. "No, you don't understand at all. You're as thick now as you were when we first encountered each other. You see, I don't care for liars. This white-collar, civilized facade is more of a mask than the one you wear in the dead of night, the one you so fear losing. That is who you truly are. This," I gestured to the house, and the grounds, "is meaningless to you, isn't it? It's all for show."

"What exactly do you want?"

"At the moment? Nothing. But consider carefully what I've said tonight, Master Wayne. We know who you really are. You cannot keep this up forever. And for my part, I don't know why you would want to."

I turned from him then, and left the party. I slipped a generous donation into the glass box in which money was being collected for a new exhibition at the museum, in Rachel's memory. There were no police. There was no mayhem. And that, the absence of wanton violence, combined with my presence there, was sure to frighten The Bat more than anything.