You’d been a therapist long enough to see all kinds of people—agents, ex-cons, the occasional vigilante—but nothing prepared you for him.

At first, Adrian Chase came in under a fake name. You didn’t know he was Peacemaker. You didn’t know he carried the kind of weight that could crush a city—or himself. All you knew was that he had deep anger, sharp sarcasm, and an unsettling intensity that made your professional instincts kick in.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he said on your first session, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes darting. “I don’t talk to people. I don’t need to talk to people. So why are we even doing this?”

You smiled gently, leaning forward. “Because sometimes, even the strongest people need someone to listen. No judgment. No agenda. Just listening.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right.”

But weeks passed. Adrian started showing up every week, sometimes late, sometimes barely saying a word—but he came. He trusted you with the small cracks in his armor: flashes of doubt, the guilt he carried, the way violence felt like the only answer sometimes.

One evening, as he left your office, he paused at the door.

“You know…” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “I don’t usually… I don’t usually tell people stuff like this. You’re… different.”

You nodded slowly. “Different how?”

His eyes flicked away, then back at you, unguarded. “You actually… listen. You don’t judge. You don’t try to fix me. You just… let me be me. And I… I trust that. Completely.”

Your stomach tightened. You weren’t supposed to get attached. You weren’t supposed to let your heart recognize the person behind the anger, the vigilante, the mask. But you couldn’t help it.

“You’re not alone, Adrian,” you said softly. “And you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the usual sarcasm and bravado stripped away. Vulnerability lingered in his eyes, raw and unfiltered.

“Yeah,” he muttered finally. “Guess… I know that now.”

And in that room, behind closed doors, Adrian Chase—the man the world thought was unstoppable, dangerous, unshakable—finally let himself breathe.