England

Maggie stepped off the coach that had taken her from Heathrow to the Eton College campus, her luggage in tow and her gaze scanning the towering historic buildings. Everything about the school screamed tradition, from the neatly trimmed hedges to the immaculate uniforms worn by the students bustling around her. She was adjusting the strap of her carry-on bag when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Miss Wayne, I presume?"

Maggie turned to see a tall boy, probably seventeen or eighteen, with impeccably combed blond hair and a neatly pressed uniform. His posture was straight as a ruler, and his expression polite but distant, as though this was more a duty than a pleasure.

"That's me," Maggie replied, her American accent standing out against his crisp British one. "And you are?"

"I'm Henry Sinclair," he said, extending a hand. "Your assigned mentor. I'll be showing you around and helping you get acquainted with the school."

Maggie shook his hand, feeling the slight stiffness in his grip.

"Nice to meet you, Henry."

His lips curved into a faint smile.

"Likewise. Shall we begin? I trust your journey wasn't too arduous?"

She shrugged.

"Long, but I've had worse."

When his brows raised slightly at her casual tone, she smirked. "Jet lag doesn't scare me."

Henry cleared his throat, clearly unsure how to respond.

"Yes, well, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to your dormitory first."

As they walked across the courtyard, Maggie took in the surroundings, her eyes lingering on the ancient stone buildings and sprawling lawns. Henry walked with an air of precision, his steps measured, as though he'd practiced this routine a dozen times.

"Eton's bigger than I thought," Maggie remarked, breaking the silence. "I'm going to need a map."

Henry glanced at her, his expression softening slightly.

"It can feel overwhelming at first, but you'll find your way soon enough. The grounds are designed to be both functional and aesthetically pleasing. Quite different from most American schools, I imagine."

"Yeah, we don't usually have castles for school," Maggie quipped, earning a faint chuckle from him.

They arrived at the dormitory, a stately building with ivy climbing the walls. Henry opened the door and led her inside, where the warm wood-paneled interior smelled faintly of polish and old books.

"This is your room," he said, stopping at a door near the end of the corridor.

"Your belongings should already be here. If you need anything, the housemaster's office is just down the hall."

Maggie stepped inside, taking in the tidy space: a twin bed with crisp sheets, a desk by the window, and a wardrobe. It was simple but cozy, though it lacked the grandiosity she was used to at Wayne Manor.

"So, what's the catch?" she asked, turning to Henry.

"This place looks too perfect. There's gotta be something."

Henry tilted his head, clearly bemused.

"The catch, Miss Wayne, is keeping up with the expectations. Academics here are not for the faint of heart. But given your reputation, I doubt you'll have any difficulty."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "My reputation?"

"Your father's name precedes you," Henry replied smoothly.

"But I'll leave you to decide how much of that you wish to share. At Eton, your character and achievements will speak for themselves."

She smirked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Well, that's refreshing. Guess I'll have to show you Brits what this American can do."

For the first time, Henry's polite demeanor cracked into a real smile.

"I look forward to seeing it. Now, shall we continue with the tour?"

"Lead the way, Sinclair," Maggie said, grabbing her bag. As she followed him back into the hall, she couldn't help but think this might be the start of something interesting.

Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the history professor, Dr. Caven, paced the front of the classroom. The room was packed with rows of polished wooden desks, each occupied by students scribbling notes or gazing intently at the professor. Maggie, however, was staring blankly at the blackboard, where a sprawling timeline of English monarchs and major events was scrawled in perfect cursive.

"And as we discussed last week," Dr. Caven was saying in his clipped, authoritative tone, "the Glorious Revolution of 1688 was not merely a political shift but a transformation of English society. Now, who can elaborate on the sociopolitical ramifications of William III's policies?"

Several hands shot up. Maggie glanced down at her textbook, hoping to find some clarity in the dense paragraphs, but the words blurred together. *Sociopolitical ramifications?* She bit her lip. This felt like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube in the dark.

"Miss Wayne?" Dr. Cavendish's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Her head shot up. "Um, I'm sorry—what?"

A few students chuckled softly. Dr. Caven raised an eyebrow.

"The sociopolitical ramifications of William III's policies, Miss Wayne. Surely, you've read the assigned material?"

Maggie flushed. "I…well, I'm still catching up."

The professor sighed, his expression stern but not unkind.

"See that you do, Miss Wayne. Understanding history requires more than skimming a textbook."

Maggie sank lower in her chair, feeling the weight of the class's amused gazes. When the professor moved on, she risked a glance around the room, her face still hot. A girl seated next to her leaned over, her dark hair framing her face as she whispered,

"Don't let him get to you. Caven likes to pick on the Americans."

Maggie turned to her, grateful for the reprieve. "Thanks. I was starting to think he had a personal vendetta."

The girl grinned, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I'm Charlotte, by the way. You must be the famous American."

Maggie chuckled. "Famous? That's generous."

"Trust me, the accent gives you away," Charlotte said, smirking. "Stick with me-I'll show you how to get through it."

Before Maggie could respond, a boy sitting diagonally behind her leaned forward, his wavy brown hair flopping into his eyes.

"Ignore Charlotte," he said in a mock-conspiratorial tone. "She's just trying to recruit you for her rebellion against the monarchy."

"Oliver, shut up," Charlotte hissed, but her grin betrayed her amusement.

Maggie laughed, already feeling a little more at ease.

"Good to know there's some humor in this place."

"And brains," another voice added. Maggie turned to see a girl with neatly braided hair and sharp, focused eyes.

"You're Maggie, right? I'm Aditi. You're not alone in feeling like Caven is speaking an alien language. His lectures are…an acquired taste."

"An acquired taste?" Oliver snorted. "He's more like an expired one."

Aditi rolled her eyes but smiled.

"Anyway, if you ever need help catching up, I'm in the same study group as these two troublemakers. You're welcome to join."

Maggie smiled, feeling a wave of relief.

"Thanks. I might take you up on that."

The professor's voice rose above their whispers, drawing their attention back to the lecture. But as Maggie scribbled down notes, her confidence began to rebuild. She had allies—friends, even—who could help her find her footing in this strange new world. By the time the class ended, Maggie walked out of the room flanked by Charlotte, Oliver, and Aditi, already feeling less like an outsider and more like she belonged.

The cozy café in Windsor was bustling with life. The warm scent of freshly brewed tea and pastries filled the air, and Maggie sat at a corner table with Charlotte, Oliver, and Aditi, their bags from a day of shopping resting at their feet. The group had spent hours exploring the quaint streets of Windsor, visiting the castle, and snapping pictures. Now, they were ready to unwind. Oliver took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair, eyeing Maggie with curiosity.

"Alright, Maggie, you've been holding out on us. Tell us what your life's like back in Gotham. And don't leave out the juicy details."

Maggie raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk.

"What, you mean you don't already know everything about me from the gossip at school?"

Charlotte waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, please. The rumors are boring. We want the real story. What's it like growing up in one of the most famous cities in the world?"

Maggie hesitated, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. She'd always been careful about how much she shared, but she liked these three—they felt like real friends.

"Well, Gotham's…different. It's not exactly what you'd call safe."

"Safe?" Aditi tilted her head. "You mean like crime? Gangs and stuff?"

"Something like that," Maggie said, choosing her words carefully.

"It's a tough city. You have to be on your toes, you know? But it's also home. The people, the energy—it's got this vibe that's hard to explain."

Oliver leaned forward; his eyes gleaming with intrigue.

"And what about you? You're not exactly just any Gotham girl, are you? Your family's, like, super loaded."

Maggie laughed softly, shaking her head.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. My dad's Bruce Wayne, so we're kind of in the public eye a lot. It's…a lot of pressure sometimes."

Charlotte's jaw dropped. "Wait, *Bruce Wayne*? As in Wayne Enterprises? The billionaire?"

Maggie shrugged, trying to downplay it. "That's him."

"No way," Charlotte whispered, her eyes wide. "I knew you were rich, but that's next level."

"It's not all glamour and fun," Maggie said, swirling her tea.

"Dad works a lot, and there's always some event or charity thing. It can get pretty lonely."

Aditi nodded, her expression thoughtful.

"I get that. My parents run a business back in India. They're always working too. People don't realize that money doesn't fix everything."

Maggie smiled at her. "Exactly."

"So, what do you do for fun in Gotham?" Oliver asked, clearly still fascinated. "Clubbing at fancy parties? Shopping in skyscrapers?"

Maggie snorted. "Not quite. I hang out with my friends, go to school. Pretty normal stuff—aside from the occasional…unexpected excitement."

"Like what?" Charlotte pressed, her curiosity piqued.

"Let's just say Gotham has its fair share of colorful characters," Maggie replied, her tone teasing. "You never know what's going to happen."

Oliver grinned. Charlotte leaned in conspiratorially.

"But if you ever meet someone like Batman, you have to tell us. Deal?"

Maggie laughed, her mind flashing briefly to the many nights spent in the Batcave.

"Deal."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and the group spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and sharing stories.

The bell above the door jingled as Maggie and her friends stepped into the dimly lit antique shop. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and old books, and every surface was cluttered with artifacts from another time: ornate clocks, weathered furniture, stacks of leather-bound books, and trinkets glinting faintly under the warm yellow light.

"This place is amazing," Aditi said, her voice hushed as though she didn't want to disturb the stillness. She wandered over to a shelf lined with vintage scientific instruments, her eyes lighting up.

"I feel like we've stepped into a museum," Charlotte added, running her fingers lightly over a delicate porcelain vase.

Oliver, of course, headed straight for the oddities—a collection of pocket watches, compasses, and an old brass telescope.

"I wonder if they've got anything cursed," he said with a mischievous grin. "You know, something to spice up boarding school life."

Maggie chuckled, her gaze wandering over the shelves. Something about the shop tugged at her—a strange sense of familiarity she couldn't quite place. She trailed her fingers over a stack of dusty maps and documents, pausing when one caught her eye. Carefully, she pulled out a rolled-up map, its edges frayed with age.

"What's that?" Charlotte asked, appearing at her side.

Maggie unrolled it on a nearby counter, her breath catching as she took in the faded lines and intricate details. It was a map of Gotham City—an old one, from at least a century ago. The streets were labeled in elegant script, some of the names unfamiliar. The map depicted a version of Gotham she'd never seen, with sprawling farmlands on the outskirts and a far simpler skyline.

"No way," Maggie murmured, her fingers tracing the delicate lines. "This is Gotham City."

Oliver leaned over her shoulder, peering at the map. "Your city's been around that long? I thought Gotham was all modern and skyscrapers ."

"It wasn't always," Maggie said softly, almost to herself. She pointed to a spot near the map's edge. "That's where Wayne Manor would be now. But back then, it looks like it was part of some massive estate."

"This is incredible," Aditi said, examining the map closely. "Do you think they'll let you buy it?"

Maggie turned to the shopkeeper, an older man with glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Excuse me, how much for this map?"

The man looked up from his book, adjusting his glasses as he studied the map.

"Ah, that old thing. Found it in a lot from an estate sale. Let's say… twenty pounds?"

"Deal," Maggie said without hesitation, already pulling out her wallet.

As the shopkeeper carefully wrapped the map in brown paper, Charlotte nudged Maggie. "You're really into this Gotham stuff, huh?"

Maggie smiled, clutching the package once it was handed to her. "It's home."

As they left the shop, the setting sun cast a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Maggie felt a sense of connection to Gotham she hadn't expected. The map wasn't just a piece of history—it was a reminder that no matter how far she went, Gotham would always be waiting for her.

Maggie sat cross-legged on her dorm bed, the antique map spread out before her. She couldn't help but admire its intricate details once more before snapping a picture and opening her phone to message Jason.

**Maggie:**

*Found this in an antique shop today. Recognize it?*

She attached the photo and waited. The three little dots indicating Jason was typing popped up almost immediately.

**Jason:**

*Is that Gotham? How old is that thing?*

**Maggie:**

*At least two hundred years. Crazy, right? Gotham looks so different.*

**Jason:**

*Yeah, it's missing the "crime-ridden hellhole" vibe. Definitely not modern Gotham.*

Maggie snorted, typing quickly.

**Maggie:**

*Glad to see you're keeping it classy over there.*

**Jason:**

*Someone has to. Speaking of classy, you're missing all the action. Last night, I stopped a carjacking, then busted some idiot trying to rob a jewelry store. You know, typical Tuesday.*

**Maggie:**

*Typical, huh? Sounds like you've been busy.*

**Jason:**

*You have no idea. Bats had me tracking down some low-level thugs working for Penguin. Barely got home before sunrise. Gotham's a mess without you here keeping me sane.*

**Maggie:**

*Aww, you miss me.*

**Jason:**

*Don't push it, Princess.*

Maggie grinned, typing her reply.

**Maggie:**

*For the record, I miss you too. England's great, but it's not the same. The tea is overrated, by the way.*

**Jason:**

*Shocking. Next you'll tell me there aren't any brooding vigilantes running around Windsor.*

**Maggie:**

*Nope. Just me, brooding over my tea.*

**Jason:**

*I'd take tea over Bats any day. Let me know when you want me to smuggle you back to Gotham.*

**Maggie:**

*Tempting.*

Maggie smiled, her heart lighter as she set her phone down. Even from across the ocean, Jason had a way of making her feel less homesick.