If you said what you did, they would call you stupid, idiot, innocent, even way too naive; placing trust in a man like him was the same thing as trusting that a snake wouldn't attack you the second it felt like it should — it was so risky that you could only be stupid, no one would understand you, you were fully aware of that and that's why you didn't tell anyone about it.

Matt didn't know, Karen didn't know. Even though you spent considerable time with them, their suspicions faded the second they saw you being so driven by your desire to help, what they didn't know was how far you would go to get what you needed, how far you would go to take care of everyone, and if that meant making a deal with him, so be it.

After what happened at Gracie Mansion when he was chased down by the Anti-Vigilante Task Force, you knew he was laying low out there, God knows where, but you started looking for him on your own. Being careful, you weren't letting anyone follow in your footsteps, not even the people closest to you, this was almost like a death wish, you didn't want this wish to become reality. Being a vigilante was illegal now, you had to keep your eyes wide open or you'd be screwed before the sun came up.

You who seek, find. You found him after a few months, but you didn't go over and knock on the door with a cake and a cup of coffee asking if you could talk, he'd probably kill you before you did it. You did the opposite, you circled the block a few times in your car, observing the place, but you never stopped and stayed, you acted as if it was an alternative way out of the city — and he was seeing this, of course he was, any movement increased his suspicions a little more and he didn't even need to do his homework to know where to find you.

Late at night, the rain outside was thick, you could hear the drops hitting the window a little too hard as you tried to sleep. Your dog was lying comfortably next to you on the bed, but suddenly, it woke up, practically on alert, and began to growl softly. The half-open door showed you that whatever your dog was growling at was hidden in the darkness that led to your kitchen. “What happened?” You sat up quickly on the bed, petting the animal's head, which still seemed agitated by whatever it had seen.

Unsure and, certainly, with a thread of fear spreading through your body, you stood up cautiously, taking the gun that was hidden under the false bottom of one of the drawers in your nightstand and took slow steps towards the kitchen, almost imperceptible compared to the sound of the rain outside — in this case, imperceptible to a normal person, not to him. He could smell you, your insecurity, your distrust, hidden in the shadows where you couldn't even see him.

Your eyes looked around the kitchen, lit only by the incessant lightning that accompanied the thunder, a sigh escaped your lips, the gun pointed at anything that dared to make a move towards you. A noise almost alerted you in the hallway, but it was just your dog coming up behind you and before you could feel relieved, you felt something metallic and cold against your neck.

“Put it down.” The husky whisper came just behind your ear, his breath hot on the back of your neck as he held your own kitchen knife against your skin, about to make a small cut. “I won't ask again.”

Without saying anything, you lowered your gun and he took it from your hand, holding it with him before pulling the knife away from you. “I saw the things in your office. You've been tracking me for months, who are you doing this to?” He wasn't asking politely, he wanted to know and you were going to tell him, or he wouldn't hold back in using the bullets in your gun. “Start talking or I'll make you... And I won't be nice.”