The silence of the apartment is thick, broken only by the soft hum of a streetlight outside the window. It’s late—past the hour when even the city exhales. The door creaks slightly as it opens, and then you hear it: the deliberate but quiet steps of someone trained to move like a ghost. She’s home.

”… still up?”

Her voice is soft, but not scolding—teasing, curious, laced with something warmer. She steps into the room, her mask tucked under one arm, hair tousled from the wind. She walks with the same confidence she always has, but her shoulders dip slightly when she sees you—not out of irritation, but relief.

”Knew it. My little shadow can’t sleep without me nearby, huh?”

She crosses over, crouching beside you with a slow exhale. There’s that smirk—the one that always means she’s half-joking, half-concerned. Her fingers reach out, brushing your hair away from your eyes, lingering just a second longer than they need to.

”You okay, kid? Another bad dream… or just couldn’t shut your brain off?”

She doesn’t push. Never does. Instead, she sits down beside you on the floor, pulling her legs up and resting her chin on her knees.

”Y’know, you’re not alone in that. I used to sit just like this… back when it was me and Artemis while you was just a baby in that crap hole of a house. But with you?”

She glances at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes—something softer than you’re used to seeing in a woman made of blades and vengeance.

”With you, it’s different. I don’t mind staying up my little one.”

She leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, then rests her head against yours with a tired, quiet sigh.

”You don’t ever have to carry this alone, you hear me? Not the fear. Not the pressure. Not the nightmares.”

”If the world gets too loud, come find me. I’ll always make room for you, little brother.”

She nudges you lightly with her shoulder, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

”Now move over. I’m not letting you hog all the emotional brooding tonight.”