It was the same as what Richard was experiencing on stage now—drenched in his parents' blood, desperately shaking them, willing them to wake up and rise again.
At that moment, they were both just children who had lost their parents.
After a brief moment of being lost in thought, Bruce's sharp mind quickly picked up on something wrong. Acrobats performing such high-risk stunts should have their equipment thoroughly checked by the circus beforehand. So why had the rope snapped so suddenly?
What Bruce realized, Avery naturally caught onto as well. A skilled detective never overlooks any detail in a case, and as the "detective's" assistant, Avery knew he had to be equally sharp.
The circus must play a crucial role in this situation, so Avery leaned over and whispered, "Should I plant some gadgets?"
By "gadgets," of course, Avery meant bugging devices, a standard trick up Batman's sleeve. After working with Bruce for a while, Avery had mastered the art of planting bugs in 108 different ways, ensuring that no ordinary person would ever notice unless they had special training.
But for some reason, Avery suddenly felt a pang of regret.
He had become so adept at something like this—how had he sunk so low?
Bruce gave him no verbal response, only a silent acknowledgment.
With permission granted, Avery discreetly split from Bruce. As he walked away, he casually cast a spell to lower his presence, blending into the crowd as he made his way backstage at the circus. There, he secretly planted listening devices in various hidden spots.
Just as he finished, ready to leave and dusting off his hands, an unexpected clue caught his eye.
A glass bottle with traces of a strange liquid.
He bent down and picked it up with his gloved right hand. The bottle had remnants of adhesive where a label had been ripped off, and at the same time, a sharp chemical odor assaulted his nostrils.
Avery wrinkled his nose and held his breath, then, stroking his chin thoughtfully, he took a few steps forward. He dripped a bit of the remaining liquid onto a piece of tattered fabric.
The fabric immediately corroded, leaving a gaping hole.
Avery raised an eyebrow.
This is… acid?
It was now clear that this incident had been deliberately caused.
With the evidence in hand, Avery didn't linger any longer. Pocketing the bottle, he made his way out of the circus and walked a short distance before arriving at a familiar car.
He opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Then, without a word, he tossed the bottle—now neatly wrapped in a plastic bag—into the backseat, where someone was waiting.
Bruce caught the bottle effortlessly, a questioning look in his eyes. "What's this?"
"The murder weapon. The reason the Graysons' rope snapped. I can't decide if the culprit is cocky or careless—leaving it right at the scene like that."
As Avery drove, he casually remarked, "When we get back, you can check the bottle for any fingerprints left by the culprit."
Though Avery could easily figure it out with a spell, there was no rush, and since technology could handle the job just as well, he didn't see the need to rely on magic for everything. Besides, his persona in front of Bruce was of someone who hadn't been practicing magic for very long, wasn't very powerful, and focused more on healing. No need to draw unnecessary attention.
Bruce nodded, and the two of them soon returned to the manor. The Drake family had already left while Bruce was waiting in the car for Avery. The house next door was brightly lit, in stark contrast to the quiet, darkened manor beside it, illuminated only by a few solar-powered street lamps guiding the two men home.
Once inside, Avery flipped the light switch, bathing the once dark room, lit only by moonlight, in brightness.
"I promised to take you to the circus, but it seems I ruined it," Bruce said with a slightly helpless smile as he hung his coat on the rack.
The large house was silent, with just the two of them. The night was peaceful, the atmosphere calm, as if even the smallest sound might echo through the quiet.
Avery wasn't particularly concerned about the circus, but moments ago, he had made an interesting discovery.
Why are you so fixated on such a small thing, Bruce?
Those who observe closely are often rewarded with insights.
A flicker of a sly smile crossed Avery's face, so fleeting that even Batman didn't catch it. As he turned his back to Bruce, calmly taking off and organizing his clothes, he said, "You can give me a gift anytime you want. But... you've been paying quite a lot of attention to me lately, haven't you?"
For people like them, that kind of attention was rather obvious. Reminded by Avery's words, Bruce suddenly realized that perhaps he had crossed the line, and while Avery might not be the most perceptive in this area, he wasn't a fool.
Bruce didn't panic, though. He wasn't someone who struggled to understand his own emotions, and he wasn't a naive kid anymore. There was no shame in feeling this way.
Calmly, he looked at Avery, thinking over how to respond to his observation.
It was at this moment that Avery moved closer to him, and suddenly, Bruce became acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, making his own breathing grow heavier.
"Do you need me to arrange anything else for you today, sir?" the young and strikingly handsome butler asked, his head bowed as he attentively straightened Bruce's clothes. His neck, pale and elegant, showed faint blue veins, and being so close, Bruce could catch the scent Avery carried—clean and subtle, free from the heavy body odor common in Westerners. It was a fresh, almost medicinal scent, likely from the healing potions Avery often brewed.
This wasn't the first time Avery had been this close to Bruce, but it was the first time their hearts had been this near. Bruce realized that Avery was well aware of his intentions and, notably, didn't pull away.