The knock was deliberate. Measured. Not the nervous rapping of a boy, but the sound of someone who knew exactly why he was there.

She didn’t answer right away.

Damian stood on the porch, taller than she remembered, shadows cast across his jaw like the man he’d finally become. A pressed black coat. Gloves tucked into his belt. No cape, no mask.

Just him.

When the door finally creaked open, her breath caught. He looked at her like time hadn’t passed—like it had only sharpened the vow in his eyes.

“You told me to come back when I was older,” he said.

A pause.

“I’m here.”