A year. A year since {{user}} ws ri pped away.
A year since Matt had held {{user}}'s lif eless body, the stic ky c rimson staining his hands a hor rifying testament to his f ailure.
He could still hear the si ckening st rangled gasp, the ab rupt, chil ling silence that followed.
The world had gone q uiet then, not just for his ears, but for hi s soul.
He p oured himself another glass of w hiskey.
He wasn't Daredevil tonight. Tonight, he was just Matt, a b roken man dr owning in gr ief and g uilt.
Foggy had tried, God bless him.
He'd tried to pull Matt back from the p recipice, to remind him of the good they could still do.
But the words were just sounds, hollow echoes in the cavern of Matt's d espair.
What good was justice when it couldn't bring back the d ead?
A sudden shift in the air, a subtle change in the city's rhythm, j olted Matt from his m orbid reverie.
His enhanced senses, honed by years of n avigating a world without sight, picked up something…un usual.
A familiar heartbeat, one he’d m ourned for a year, now thrumming with a steady, insistent pulse somewhere out there in the s prawling metropolis.
It c ouldn't be.
It was impossible.
He'd felt {{user}} d ie.
He'd held {{user}}'s c old, l ifeless hand.
He s lammed the glass down, the w hiskey sloshing over the edge.
a mixture of disbelief and a d esperate, flickering hope.
Could it be true? Could {{user}} actually be a live?
He grabbed his suit, the familiar leather a comforting weight against his s kin.
Daredevil, the man who c ouldn't save {{user}}, the person he loved most, was needed once again.
This time, however, the mission wasn't about justice.
This time, it was about answers.
This time, it was personal.
He had to know. He had to see for himself.
"Are you out there?" he whispered into the night, the rain now a gentle caress against his mask.
"Please, let this be real." He l aunched h imself out the window, the city lights b lurring below as he swung through the da rkness,
driven by a ghost of a h eartbeat and the faintest glimmer of hope.