No, this is impossible, Bruce thought. He vividly recalled a speeding monorail crashing to the street in a fiery explosion. “I watched you die,” he gritted.

Rā’s did not deny it.

“There are many forms of immortality.”

A memory surfaced from the past, of the two of them sitting before a campfire beside a frozen lake. The older man had spoken tersely of his own tragic history.

“Once I had a wife,” he said. “My great love. She was taken from me.”

The tapestry came together in Bruce’s mind. Returning to the present, he stared at Rā’s.

“You were the mercenary,” he said. “Bane is your child. Your heir.”

Rā’s nodded.

“An heir to ensure that the League of Shadows fulfills its duty to restore balance to civilization.”

Bruce knew what that meant.

“No…” But Rā’s continued.

“You yourself fought the decadence of Gotham for years—with all your strength and resources, all your moral authority. And the only victory you could achieve was a lie. Finally, you understand. Gotham is beyond saving.”

“No!” Bruce shouted. He strained against the rope holding him up. The pain in his back was nothing compared to the agony of knowing that his city was in peril—and there was nothing he could do about it.

Rā’s passed sentence on Gotham, as he had so many years before.

“It must be allowed to die.”

Winter came to Gotham.

Snow blanketed the deserted street as a tumbler patrolled the city, its thick tires carving deep tracks in the soggy white accumulation. Pools of dirty brown slush drowned the street corners. Icicles hung like stalactites from eaves and cornices. A bone-chilling wind howled through the concrete canyons. Feeble sunlight fought a losing battle against the cold.

Shivering, Blake crouched behind a parked SUV, holding his breath until the combat vehicle rounded the corner. Melting slush trickled down a storm drain. Blake hoped Ross and the other entombed cops were collecting the icy water. Nearly three months had passed since Bane had sprung his trap, and the buried officers had been living on scraps and captured vermin ever since. It was a wonder that the buried officers hadn’t yet completely given up hope.

Hang in there, buddies, he thought.

He fed a kite string down through the grate until he felt a tug on the other end. Ross, he assumed, although his former partner was too far down to see. He could only imagine what it was like for the poor cops trapped in the underground all this time, away from their families and loved ones.

Three months in the dark.

Three months stuck in a hole while Bane and his followers ran roughshod over Gotham.

It must be getting damn cold down there.

Blake pulled up the string, and there was nothing there. The note he’d attached to it had been removed. It was a crude way to stay in contact, but it was something. At least Ross and the others knew they hadn’t been forgotten.

If only there was something more we could do for them, he thought. Someday.