The Watchtower’s atmosphere was suffocating, a tangible weight pressing down on everyone present. The Justice League was no stranger to crises, but this felt different. The stakes weren’t just global or universal—they were personal. The command center buzzed with activity, data streams flickering across monitors, but the tension in the room was a palpable reminder of their collective failure.

  Superman stood by the central console, his cape draped over his broad shoulders like a shadow. His jaw was tight, and his eyes, usually so steady, betrayed a flicker of helplessness. “It’s been a week,” he said, breaking the silence. “We’re supposed to be the Justice League—the protectors of this planet. And we can’t find one boy.”

  Batman, stationed at a nearby terminal, didn’t look up. His hands moved methodically over the keys, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his cowl. “We’ve searched every possible avenue,” he said, his voice sharp, clipped. “They planned for this.”

  But even as the words left his mouth, a deeper truth clawed at him, one he would never admit aloud. He had failed Tom. The boy had come to them, seeking safety, seeking guidance. And now he was lost, suffering, because of their inability—because of his inability—to protect him.

  Zatanna, seated nearby, stared blankly at her console, her fingers twitching as if she were about to type something, then stopping midway. The weight of guilt hung heavily on her shoulders. She had spoken to Tom. Had failed to protect him. She had felt and seen Tom’s fear and desperation during their last conversation. And now, that fear was her constant companion, gnawing at her resolve every time she closed her eyes.

  Diana stood silently by the window, her arms crossed as she gazed out into the vastness of space. Her usually unshakable composure was cracked, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had seen something in Tom—something strong, resilient, and so very young. She had promised herself that she would protect him, that she would ensure he had a chance to grow into the person he was meant to be. And now, she could do nothing but wait and hope.

  But it was Batman who carried the heaviest burden. Behind the cold efficiency of his movements, his mind churned with an unrelenting storm of guilt and frustration. He had been the one to bring Tom to the Manor, to integrate him into their world, knowing full well the dangers that surrounded them. And now, Tom was paying the price for his incompetence.

  His fingers paused on the keyboard for a fraction of a second before resuming their meticulous work. He could feel the weight of every failure pressing down on him, memories of past mistakes flashing in his mind like specters haunting his every move. Tom’s face, bruised and bloodied in his imagination, merged with another—a boy with dark hair and a mischievous grin, whose cries for help he had been too late to answer.

  This is like what happened to Jason, he thought, his jaw tightening. The parallels were too stark, too cruel. Another young life drawn into their world, only to be lost to the darkness they claimed to fight. And just like with Jason, he had been too slow, too blind to see the danger until it was too late.

  Batman straightened, his shoulders stiff as steel. He would not allow this to happen again. He couldn’t. Failure wasn’t an option. He owed it to Tom, to Jason, to every life that had been caught in the crossfire of his mission. He would bring Tom back, no matter the cost. And if they were too late—if Tom didn’t survive—then the Light, Klarion, and anyone else responsible would learn what it meant to incur Batman’s wrath.

  The thought was cold, final, and wholly unforgiving. Just like the man himself.

  Zatanna’s eyes widened as a spark of realization flickered across her face. Her hands hovered over the glowing console, the faint shimmer of magic dancing at her fingertips as she worked with feverish precision. Then, like a dam breaking, the pieces fell into place. She bolted upright, Her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she turned toward the rest of the room.

  “I’ve got something!” She shouted, her voice raised with urgency. The command room, which had been heavy with the weight of silence and unspoken frustration, snapped to life. Every League member turned sharply toward her, the oppressive tension replaced by a surge of focused attention.

  Batman was the first to react, striding to her station with purpose. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and clipped, though the faintest edge of hope bled through.

  Zatanna’s hands moved in fluid gestures, arcane energy sparking at her fingertips as she adjusted the glowing sigils on her console. “I’ve been trying to track the magical remnants from Klarion’s portal,” She explained breathlessly. “It’s faint—really faint—but I finally managed to lock onto something. It’s not precise, but I have a general location.”

  Batman turned instantly, his hands freezing over the keyboard. “What is it?” he asked, his voice steady, though the faintest edge of hope tinged his words.

  Zatanna’s hands glowed faintly as she pressed them together, her focus entirely on the magical energy she was channeling. “I can feel him,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and determination. “It’s faint—like an echo—but it’s there. South America. Somewhere in South America.”

  “Pull up a map!” he commanded, his usual calm veneer replaced with urgency.

  Batman didn’t hesitate. His fingers flew across the keys, and within moments, the holographic display of Earth shifted to South America. The map zoomed in, illuminating the continent in vivid detail. “Where?” he asked, his tone clipped.

  Zatanna moved closer to the display, her hands hovering just above the glowing projection. Her eyes were narrowed, Her lips moving in silent incantations as she searched. After a tense moment, she pointed toward an area near the northern edge of the Amazon rainforest. “There. Somewhere in this region.”

  Batman’s jaw tightened. “That’s not specific enough,” he muttered, already beginning to type, cross-referencing known data with the coordinates Zatanna had indicated.

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  Zatanna shook her head, frustration evident in her expression. “I’m trying, but Klarion’s magic is masking him. This is the best I can do for now.”

  “Then it’ll have to be enough,” Batman said. His hands moved rapidly, pulling up reports, satellite imagery, and intelligence files. The screen filled with layers of information—geography, infrastructure, and, most importantly, known Light holdings. “Cross-referencing known Light activity and infrastructure within a hundred-mile radius of this location.”

  Superman stepped forward, his arms crossed, his expression grim. “If they have him anywhere, it’ll be someplace remote, someplace defensible.”

  “And someplace shielded from outside interference,” Wonder Woman added. “The Light would ensure it’s impossible for us to storm in unnoticed.”

  Batman’s eyes scanned the data flashing before him, piecing together the puzzle with his relentless precision. His voice remained steady as he worked. “Known safe houses, hidden facilities, supply routes… narrowing it down.”

  A red marker blinked on the map, a cluster of buildings nestled deep in the dense rainforest. Batman zoomed in, the aerial image revealing a heavily fortified compound. “There,” he said. “High security, isolated, and listed under a shell corporation tied to LexCorp. This matches the Light’s patterns.”

  Zatanna nodded sharply, her focus unwavering. “That’s it. I can feel him—he’s there.”

  Batman straightened, his eyes narrowing. “Then we move. Now.”

  Batman turned sharply to Superman, his tone urgent but measured. “Clark, you’re the fastest. Head there immediately. Scout the area and confirm whether it’s the location. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. We’ll catch up as quickly as possible.”

  Superman nodded, already moving toward the Zeta-Tube. “Understood. I’ll keep a low profile and report back as soon as I have something.” His voice carried a steely determination as he stepped into the portal and vanished in a flash of light.

  Batman’s gaze returned to the map, his mind racing. “Diana, Zatanna, you’re with me. Green Lantern, prepare for aerial support. We don’t know what kind of defenses the Light has in place, and Klarion might still be involved. We need every angle covered.”

  “On it,” Green Lantern replied, his ring glowing as he began coordinating a flight path.

  Zatanna’s eyes glimmered faintly with magic as she reinforced her connection to Tom’s location. “I’ll do my best to maintain the trace, but Klarion’s wards are strong. I’ll need time to break through if we encounter resistance.”

  Batman nodded. “Do what you can. And be prepared for anything.”

  Superman soared over the dense canopy of the Amazon rainforest, the lush greenery stretching endlessly below him. The humid air rushed past as he scanned the terrain with his enhanced vision, his senses on high alert. He spotted the compound almost immediately—hidden beneath a dense cover of trees, its layout meticulously camouflaged but unmistakably fortified. Guard towers, patrols, and heavy security measures confirmed it: this was no ordinary facility.

  He hovered high above the compound, his vision piercing through the thick foliage and reinforced walls. Inside, he saw rows of armed guards, advanced equipment, and unmistakable signs of Light activity. His eyes narrowed as he scanned further, searching for any signs of the boy or the chaotic magical presence he had expected to find.

  But instead of Klarion, his gaze locked onto another figure—a tall man standing in the center of a dimly lit command room. His posture was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, and his sharp features were unmistakable. Ra’s al Ghul. He was overseeing the compound’s operations, his cold, calculating demeanor evident even from afar.

  Superman’s jaw tightened. The League of Shadows.

  He activated his communicator, his voice steady but tense. “Batman, I’ve found the compound. It’s heavily fortified—guards, automated defenses, and advanced tech. Ra’s al Ghul is here. He’s running the show.”

  There was a pause before Batman’s voice came through, clipped and focused. “Ra’s? Not Klarion?”

  “Not Klarion,” Superman confirmed, his enhanced vision sweeping the compound again. “But this place screams Light activity. If Tom’s here, Ra’s is the one in charge.”

  “Do you see Tom?” Batman asked sharply.

  Superman pushed his vision deeper into the compound, his gaze cutting through reinforced barriers and dimly lit corridors. Finally, his breath caught as he spotted a chamber far below the surface, encased in layers of security. A figure in restraints, battered and motionless.

  A heavy, suffocating silence followed on the communicator. Superman’s chest tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to keep his emotions in check. His enhanced vision traced every detail of the boy’s condition, and it was one of worse conditions he’d ever see a living human in. Cuts marred nearly every inch of Tom’s body, their raw, jagged edges oozing blood. His arms hung at unnatural angles, clearly broken, the disfigurement stark against his battered frame. Burns covered him in patches, the skin blistered and charred in places, a sickening testament to the brutality he’d endured. There was more damage than whole skin, the wounds so pervasive that they seemed to define his fragile form.

  Superman’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as he forced himself to remain where he was. The blood pooled beneath Tom’s hanging form, a visceral reminder of how much the boy had endured. Every breath he took was shallow and uneven, his chest barely rising. Superman’s eyes burned with a rare, seething fury as he absorbed the scene, the agony etched into every fiber of Tom’s being.

  It took everything in him to fight back the impulse to tear through the compound and end it all now. To rip down the walls and obliterate anyone who dared harm the boy again. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Every second he stayed his hand felt like an eternity, the weight of his restraint bearing down on him like a mountain.

  Superman’s voice came through the communicator, low and guttural, a growl laced with barely restrained fury. “If you’re not here in the next two minutes, I’m going in without you,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel. “I don’t even know how he’s alive right now.”

  There was a brief, tense silence on the line, the weight of his words sinking in. The urgency in his voice wasn’t just desperation—it was rage, pure and unfiltered, threatening to boil over. He took another glance at Tom, hanging limply, blood pooling beneath him, every breath a painful testament to his resilience.

  “Clark, hold position,” Batman’s voice finally came through, calm but commanding, though there was a faint edge of urgency to it. “You going in alone risks everything, including Tom’s life.”

  Superman’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as he hovered in place, his body tense and ready to launch at a moment’s notice. “Then get here,” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly, the strain of holding back evident. “Because I swear to God, Bruce, if I see them even move toward him, I’m not waiting.”

  “We’re almost there,” Wonder Woman’s voice interjected, steady and reassuring. “Just a little longer, Superman. Hold on.”

  Superman exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath coming out in a frustrated rush. His eyes never left Tom, scanning every wound, every shallow breath, every tremble of the boy’s battered body. “You’d better hurry,” he muttered darkly, his voice a dangerous promise. “Because I’m done watching this.”