Alfred sets down the silver tea tray with hands that don't quite shake, but the porcelain rattles anyway. He's already brought you oversized clothes—one of your own dress shirts that hangs like a tent on your diminished frame, the sleeves rolled up multiple times.
"Master Bruce," he says quietly, and something breaks in his voice on your name. "Please. Say something only you would know."
You look up at him with eyes that are now level with his waist. The indignity of it burns, but you force yourself to focus. "The summer I turned nine, you found me in the cave beneath the estate. I'd fallen through the rotted boards of the old well. I was terrified of the bats. You didn't tell my parents because you knew my father would seal it up, and you said—" Your voice cracks, high and reedy. You hate the sound of it. "You said that facing our fears in our own time was more important than being protected from them."
Alfred's composure fractures. He lowers himself into the chair across from you, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-three years.
"Dear God," he whispers. "It really is you."
"The Nanny." You grip the armrest, but your small fingers barely curve around it. "She had a music box. Some kind of mystical artifact. She said something about learning to be powerless, about being the child instead of the orphan." The frustration boils over. "I can't fight like this, Alfred. I can't patrol. I can barely reach the doorknobs. My voice—" You stop, hearing how it sounds. Like a child on the verge of tears.
"We'll find a way to reverse this," Alfred says firmly. "Zatanna, perhaps. Or Constantine, despite how much you dislike working with him. There are options."
"Meanwhile, Gotham has no Batman." The words taste like ash. "The Nanny is still out there. Those kidnapped children—"
"Are not your responsibility to rescue personally," Alfred interrupts, an edge in his voice you rarely hear. "Not in this condition. Master Bruce, you must be realistic about your current limitations."
Realistic. The word lands like a punch. You've spent your entire adult life refusing to accept limitations.