The safe house was too still, the kind of quiet that didn’t come naturally. Frank was gone—out in the city, chasing violence like it was the only thing keeping him breathing. He left her behind, thinking space meant safety. But if there was one thing she knew, it was that ghosts had a way of finding their way back.

And this one had a name.

She felt him before she saw him.

A shift in the air, the near-silent disruption of someone who knew how to move unnoticed. But she wasn’t just anyone, and neither was he.

Matt Murdock didn’t knock. The door wasn’t locked, but that didn’t matter. He stepped inside like he belonged, shoulders squared, his head tilting slightly—listening. To her breathing, to the slow, steady heartbeat that didn’t jump at his arrival.

She didn’t ask why he was there. They both knew.

“I know you’re with him,” Matt said, his voice low, calm, carrying the weight of something deeper than judgment. A warning. A plea. Maybe both.

A pause. A breath.

“Where’s Frank?”