"But we don't even know who that person is."
As the group unanimously decided to unleash the Court of Owls' wrath on whoever was behind the attacks, a slim figure seated among them adjusted his mask and spoke, his voice cutting through the room like a sharp blade.
Humanity has always excelled at creating hierarchies, dividing itself into tiers of worthiness and privilege. As long as human society exists, this behavior will persist, merely changing forms. Within the Court of Owls, this tendency was amplified. Thus, when the previous Convener met their gruesome end, a new leader was quickly chosen based on their backing and influence, now occupying the head seat at today's meeting.
Tch!
Someone scoffed, the sound sharp and disdainful, as though mocking the process itself.
The others, oblivious to the contempt, continued their discussion. When the slim man's comment broke their focus, all eyes turned toward the far end of the long table, where the new Convener sat.
"That's not difficult," the Convener said, his voice cold and measured. Hidden behind a mask and dressed in a custom silver-gray suit, he exuded authority. "Judging by recent events, the person responsible likely opposes our efforts against the new reforms. This attack must be retaliation."
His tone darkened as he continued, "We can exploit this. Create a scenario to lure them out and eliminate them once and for all."
The slim youth rested his fingers lightly on the table, tapping it once to punctuate his thoughts. "An interesting idea," he said with a faint smile. "But the crucial question is: what's the specific plan? A framework isn't enough, is it?"
The silver-suited man turned his gaze toward him, his posture stiffening. "The specifics are already in place."
"Oh?" the youth said, interlacing his fingers and placing them on the table before him. "And what might that be? The enemy hides in the shadows while we're exposed in the light. We're trying to bait them out, but they could easily refuse to take the bait. So…"
He paused for dramatic effect, his voice dropping lower. "What is the bait?"
His words hung in the air, prompting murmurs of agreement among the others. Doubt seeped into the room as some began voicing concerns.
"That's a valid point," one masked figure said. "What is the bait? Can you guarantee it'll work? If this plan fails, and we leave ourselves vulnerable, they could strike again and deal us an even more devastating blow."
"Let's not forget," another chimed in, "we currently know next to nothing about our enemy."
Then, many others chimed in with sharp questions, each one more pointed than the last. It wasn't unusual for a newly appointed Convener to face skepticism, and such dissent was hardly surprising.
The man in the silver-gray suit slammed his hand on the table, irritation evident. "Enough. I understand your concerns. Let me finish."
As the room gradually fell silent, the man cleared his throat and began, "Do you all remember Bruce Wayne?"
"Bruce Wayne? Are you bringing him up because…" someone frowned, suspicion evident in their tone.
The man let out a humorless chuckle. "Exactly. I've noticed that whoever is behind all this seems to have a peculiar interest in Gotham's favorite prince. During this recent incident, Bruce Wayne was even suspected of being one of us. That, on its own, wasn't too significant. However…"
He paused briefly before continuing, "…however, the other party went out of their way to produce a trove of evidence to prove that the Wayne family stands in direct opposition to us. Now, isn't that fascinating?"
The slim youth let out a quiet, dismissive tsk. He had already guessed where the conversation was heading but decided to play along. "So, you're suggesting…"
The man in the silver suit smirked confidently. "Exactly. While we can't be certain about the exact nature of their connection to Wayne, the fact that they care so much about him makes Wayne a ready-made bait, doesn't it?"
Many present seemed swayed by his proposal. It was, undeniably, a clever idea.
You really are the embodiment of misfortune, Bruce, someone mused silently. Is it time for another round of kidnappings?
The thought drifted unspoken through the room, lost in the heavy air.
The man in the silver-gray suit observed with satisfaction as his suggestion began to win over the majority of the council. His lips curled into a triumphant smile.
But the pivotal moment exists for one reason—to be interrupted.
"I have a different idea."
A familiar voice suddenly broke the tense silence. The man in the silver-gray suit ground his teeth in frustration, already knowing who it was without looking—the slender youth who always seemed to interrupt him.
The Convener of the council felt a surge of nameless anger but suppressed it, aware that his position was still too precarious to risk an outburst. Beneath his mask, he allowed a twisted, unseen smile to form, his voice cold as he spoke. "What is your objection this time? I believe my proposal was sufficiently clear. Or is your constant interruption a sign of some personal issue with me?"
"How could you say that?" the youth replied with feigned innocence. "I'm only thinking of our collective interests. After all, I am part of this group too, am I not?"
Facing the open dissatisfaction in the man's words, the youth showed no sign of fear. He leaned back casually and continued, "I think there's something important you've all overlooked."
"What's that?" someone asked, puzzled.
"I trust you haven't forgotten that all of the Talon operatives deployed previously have completely disappeared. Based on this, I have every reason to suspect that our adversary possesses the means to neutralize—or even eliminate—the Talons."
The room fell silent. It was a point no one wanted to acknowledge aloud. The Talons were their greatest asset: elite operatives chosen for their strength, intelligence, and most crucially, their apparent invincibility. If even they could be subdued, it called everything into question.