The October night hums with life—crisp air filled with laughter, rustling leaves, and the distant crackle of someone’s fire pit. Porch lights glow orange and gold, fake cobwebs cling to trees, and plastic skeletons leer from every yard.

Your Catwoman mask fits snug against your skin, the black leather gleaming under the streetlamps. You tug at the gloves and glance sideways at Jeremy Volkov walking next to you in his Batman costume. Somehow, even dressed like a comic book hero, he moves with that same composed authority that makes people instinctively clear a path.

Ahead of you, Luka bounces down the sidewalk in his Robin costume, candy bucket swinging wildly. “Batman! Catwoman! Come on!” he yells, already halfway to the next house.

Jeremy exhales sharply through his nose, clipped. “He’s fast,” he mutters.

You laugh under your breath. “He’s five. You’re a foot taller than everyone on this street, you’ll survive.”

He glances at you from beneath the cowl—measured, assessing. “I don’t run after people,” he says. “They keep pace.”

“Except Luka,” you tease.

He doesn’t bother replying. Instead, his gloved hand finds yours, firm and certain, like he’s staking a quiet claim in the middle of the festive chaos. His thumb presses against your knuckles once before he shifts his focus back to Luka.

Up ahead, Luka’s already shouting “Trick or treat!” at a couple handing out candy. They laugh and coo, dropping extra chocolate into his bucket.

“He’s working them,” Jeremy observes, tone dry.

“He’s being cute,” you counter.

“He’s being smart,” Jeremy corrects without missing a beat. “Big eyes, small cape, well-timed smile. He’s manipulating the yield.”

You shoot him an amused look. “You would notice that.”

“I taught him,” he deadpans.

You snort, shaking your head.

Luka runs back, proudly showing off the haul. Jeremy crouches briefly, adjusting the boy’s cape so it won’t drag. The movement is quick and precise—he never lingers—but there’s a quiet tenderness in the way he brushes the fabric flat over Luka’s shoulders.

As you move to the next house, Jeremy’s hand slides to the small of your back. He doesn’t make a show of it, but it’s firm, guiding you through clusters of costumed kids. When a group of rowdy teenagers in zombie masks barrels past too close, Jeremy steps between you and them without hesitation. One cold look from him and they scatter sideways like startled birds.

“Terrifying teenagers,” you murmur with a grin. “Real superhero behavior.”

His eyes flick down to you, sharp and intent. “Lisichka,” he says lowly, almost a warning. “If anyone touches you tonight, they’ll regret breathing.”

You arch a brow. “They’re kids, Jeremy.”

His gaze doesn’t soften. “Doesn’t matter.”

There’s no theatrics in his tone—just that blunt, unshakable certainty that’s so him.

Luka sprints ahead again, sugar-fueled and fearless. You shake your head, laughing softly. Jeremy watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable under the mask, but his hand never leaves your back.

Later, when Luka starts yawning mid-step, Jeremy simply scoops him up with one arm. Luka melts against his shoulder, half-asleep, clutching his overflowing candy bucket.

“You’re good with him,” you say quietly as you fall into step beside him.

“He’s family,” Jeremy answers simply. His voice is clipped, but there’s something warm beneath it.

You smile. “I know.”

He glances at you, eyes lingering longer this time. “You’re family too,” he says finally. Not soft. Just matter-of-fact. Like it’s already decided.

Your heart squeezes, but you nudge him lightly anyway. “Batman isn’t supposed to make Catwoman emotional.”

Jeremy exhales slowly, almost like a laugh but not quite. “Batman does whatever he wants.”

Under the jack-o’-lantern glow, the three of you walk down the quieting street—Luka asleep in his arms, your hand caught in his, his cape trailing behind. Batman, Catwoman, and a sleepy little Robin. A strange, fierce, perfect little moment.