The boy vanished in a blink.
Jonathan had seen him only an hour before, darting between fruit carts in Hargreeve Square, filthy hands quick as any thief's but his smile too bright to belong in Gotham's gutter.
Scrap had waved at him, bold as ever, before melting into the crowd. Now the crowd was gone, the square empty save for broken crates and the faint trace of a struggle.
Jonathan crouched low. In the dust, small footprints scuffed toward an alley, chased by heavier boots. The smear of blood was faint but enough. His chest tightened.
"Scrap," he whispered.
Crane arrived late, pistol already drawn. "Saw him?"
"They took him," Jonathan said grimly, pointing at the tracks.
"Dragged toward the river."
The trail led into Gotham's East End, where lanterns burned low and windows shuttered early. Jonathan's gut knotted with every step; he had seen too many children vanish in this quarter, swallowed by the same shadow.
They reached a boarded tavern. The door hung loose, as though torn open. Jonathan pushed through, breath held. Inside smelled of damp wood, spilled gin, and something worse the copper tang of blood.
In the corner lay Scrap's cap, torn in half. Jonathan gripped it so tightly it cut his palm.
Crane hissed, "It's a warning."
"No," Jonathan muttered. "It's a leash."
The floorboards groaned above. Jonathan charged, taking the stairs two at a time. The upper rooms were filled with whispers, men in hoods circling a table. On the table bound, gagged, and thrashing was Scrap. His eyes found Jonathan, wide and desperate.
"Not another step," a voice warned.
From the shadows emerged Nina Blackthorn, her dagger glinting at Scrap's throat. She smiled, calm, merciless. "You should have left the graveyard alone."
Jonathan froze. His pistol leveled at her, but she pressed the blade tighter until a drop of blood welled on the boy's skin. Scrap whimpered against the gag.
"You work for Graye," Jonathan spat.
"I work for Gotham," she said softly, eyes unreadable. "And Gotham requires sacrifice."
The men in hoods began chanting, low and steady the same double-circle whispers Jonathan had heard below the earth. His heart thundered.
They meant to bleed Scrap into the ritual, another child lost to The Owe's ledger.
Jonathan acted. He lunged, knocking the lantern from the table. Flames burst, smoke swallowing the room.
Chaos broke loose chants dissolving into shouts, steel clashing in the dark.
He slashed the boy's ropes as Nina's dagger cut across his arm. Pain burned hot, but he dragged Scrap free.
Crane stormed in, firing into the smoke. One hooded man fell. Another clawed for Jonathan's throat before Crane's boot smashed his skull against the boards.
Nina vanished into the smoke, her laughter cold and cruel. "You can't protect him forever, Wayne. He belongs to us."
Jonathan clutched Scrap close as the tavern burned. They stumbled into the alley, coughing, bleeding, alive.
Scrap clung to Jonathan's coat, trembling. "I didn't… I didn't tell them nothing, sir. I swear it."
Jonathan tightened his grip. "You're with me now. Always."
But in the back of his mind, her words rang like prophecy.
He belongs to us.