The news hit you like a punch to the gut—Foggy Nelson was in the hospital, hurt bad, and no one knew exactly how or why Your phone buzzed with the message as you stood on a rain-soaked Hell’s Kitchen corner, the city’s pulse thrumming under your feet.

Foggy, the heart of Nelson & Murdock, was down, and your first thought was Matt. If he was there, he’d be a mess, drowning in guilt over whatever went wrong. If he wasn’t, that was worse—he’d be out there, hiding, letting the weight of it crush him.

You didn’t hesitate, your boots splashing through puddles as you bolted toward Metro-General Hospital, the neon glow of the city blurring past.

Inside, the hospital smelled of antiseptic and desperation, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a bad headache. You pushed through the crowded lobby, your breath ragged, and found a nurse at the front desk, her face tired but kind

“Franklin Nelson’s room, please,” you said, voice tight with urgency. She pointed you to the third floor, ICU wing, and you were already moving, the elevator too slow, so you took the stairs two at a time.

The ICU hallway was quieter, the air heavy with the beep of monitors and the soft shuffle of nurses. Your heart pounded as you scanned the corridor, looking for him—Matt Murdock, the man who carried Hell’s Kitchen’s sins on his shoulders

You spotted him at the end of the hall, standing alone by a wide window that looked into a dimly lit room. His navy suit was rumpled, his red-tinted sunglasses pushed up into his reddish-brown hair, revealing the faint scars around his eyes

His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, but his shoulders were hunched, his jaw tight, like he was holding himself together by sheer will. Beyond the glass, Foggy lay in a hospital bed, tubes snaking from his arm, his face pale but alive, chest rising and falling under a thin blanket.

Matt’s head tilted slightly, his heightened senses catching your footsteps, your quickened breath. He didn’t turn, but his lips parted, a faint, broken exhale escaping.

The weight of his guilt hung in the air, as palpable as the antiseptic smell. You slowed, stepping beside him, your eyes flicking from Foggy’s still form to Matt’s tense profile. The city’s glow filtered through a window behind you, casting long shadows, and for a moment, you just stood there, the silence thick with everything unsaid.