His steps slow, both out of caution - one of them can see in the dark and it sure isn't him - and...a sense of wistfulness. He can feel the dust as his hand slides over the archway, taste the mustiness in the air. As his eyes adjust he finds himself peering closer at these forgotten corners, as if he could glimpse the Gotham that once was, the Gotham that Bruce was born in.

It's not long before his steps stop completely, his gaze fixated on - a random wall, apparently.