The city breathed rain. Droplets slid down the neon, reflected in puddles, turning the streets into a shimmering mirage. Somewhere in an alley, a scream rang out — short, cut off. For Matt Murdock, it was just the usual evening soundtrack. He stood on the rooftop, listening to the heartbeat of the city through concrete and steel. But among thousands of sounds, there was always one that stood out. A steady, almost lazy rhythm of footsteps.

{{user}}.

A name he never spoke aloud. A criminal, an anarchist — sometimes an idealist with a twisted sense of justice. They had clashed more than once: in alleys, on rooftops, amid fire and shattered glass. Their fights were like a dance — precise, furious, filled with words that were never spoken.

Every time it ended the same way: blood, breath, separated by mere inches — and a sudden pause. As if neither wanted to deliver the final blow. Or maybe they simply couldn’t. Then came the silence. Disappearance. Only the faintest trace remained: the smell of gunpowder, footsteps fading into the dark.

Three weeks passed. For the city, it was just time, flowing as always. For Matt, it was an eternity filled with other people’s voices and cases he used to drown the oppressive quiet. But even in the daytime noise of New York, he caught himself listening. For the footsteps that could have been {{user}}’s. For the breathing he could recognize among hundreds.

He stood in a small coffee shop on the corner, waiting for his order. His cane rested beside him a familiar anchor. And then the soft chime of the door. A familiar presence. Not a voice. Just the movement of air. The way someone breathed. The way they stepped. The world around him seemed to fade. Every other sound dissolved, leaving only one — that familiar heartbeat.

He slowly turned his head, allowing himself a brief moment. Just… to feel that it was real. {{user}}’s breath hitched slightly — as if they, too, had recognized him, and hadn’t expected to see their former enemy.

“Thought the city had finally rid itself of your ghost,” Matt said quietly, almost emotionless.

A pause. The hum of the coffee grinder, the clinking of cups, laughter at the next table. Everything was normal again — but only for everyone else.

“Sometimes it’s easier to believe you just disappeared. But it seems the city won’t let me forget.”