I hit the sidewalk like the door behind me might explode any second. One foot, then the other—slow, waiting for him to follow. Like I wasn't on the verge of a full-blown meltdown.
Don't run.
Running screams guilty.
I adjusted my backpack, glanced up like the weather suddenly mattered, and kept walking. One... two... three steps. Deep breath. Quick glance over my shoulder.
Clear.
No Matt Murdock charging after me. No furious blind lawyer in red glasses chasing me down with that deceptively innocent cane, demanding to know how I knew.
Good. That's good. So far.
I pressed on. Casual pace. Normal kid leaving a law office. Totally routine. Every few steps, I stole a look behind me.
Still nothing.
Until I caught movement in the reflection of a dark shop window—and flinched so hard I nearly rolled my ankle on the curb.
False alarm.
Just a guy walking his dog.
But the dog stared at me like it knew. Judgy little furball.
Keep it together.
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe he didn't catch the word. Maybe "Daredevil" just floated past him like background noise.
…Right?
I swallowed, hard. My throat felt like sandpaper.
But no—he definitely heard it. Of course he did. He always hears. That hand on the desk? That wasn't frustration.
He knew I knew.
And I knew that he knew I knew.
Which meant...
Yeah. I was knee-deep in the shit.
A soft breeze passed through the street, but it felt like pressure. Every footstep sounded louder. Paranoia prickled at the back of my neck like hot needles.
What if he was already moving? Following me from the rooftops? Listening to my heartbeat from a block away?
I crossed the street. Took a turn down a narrower sidewalk. Not too fast. Not too weird.
Just a normal walk.
My eyes flicked to every storefront, every reflective surface. Watching. Listening for footsteps that weren't mine.
Still nothing.
Unless that shadow—
Nope. Just a lamppost. Cool. Totally fine. Not dying inside.
---
Waiting in an alley is a terrible idea. Especially in Hell's Kitchen.
This is how people end up on milk cartons.
But... I need him to come to me. And if there's anywhere he'd feel comfortable dropping the lawyer act and bringing out the Devil, it's here—in the shadows. Secluded. No civilians. No cameras. Just brick walls, trash, and rats.
Perfect.
I leaned against the wall like I wasn't second-guessing every life choice that got me to this moment. Tried to act like I wasn't about to bolt if even a single rat made eye contact with me.
Deep breath. Exhale. Wait.
Any second now, either he shows up...
Or I get mugged by someone who thinks I'm an easy target.
---
If I were him, and some random teenager whispered my vigilante name like a trigger word before booking it out of my office? Yeah. I'd follow.
I just hope he shows up to talk.
And not to break my jaw.
I shifted my weight, checked the alley again—still empty. My nerves were starting to eat themselves.
Every few minutes, I muttered "Daredevil" under my breath. Like a foghorn. A tiny, nervous foghorn desperately hoping to ping the attention of a guy who can hear heartbeats through walls.
"Daredevil" I whispered again, glancing up toward the rooftops. "Just in case you're listening. Which... you probably are. I'm not here to bring you trouble, for real."
Nothing.
Just the soft hum of the city, the buzz of a neon sign from the bodega across the street, and the occasional drip from some pipe I didn't want to look at.
God, what am I even doing?
Who whispers a vigilante's name in a sketchy back alley like it's a summon? This isn't Gotham. I don't have a Bat-Signal.
I glanced behind me again. No movement. No footsteps.
No red devil looming out of the shadows.
I ran a hand through my hair, heart hammering, and muttered it one more time, a little louder.
"Daredevil."
A pause.
Then... a whisper of wind. A faint shift of something overhead. A soft creak of metal, like a fire escape being tested by weight.
I froze.
He's here.
Listening.
And I just hoped to god that he felt like having a conversation.
I mean the whole conversation from earlier was from him to at least see me in a good spotlight.
That hope? Shaking on a ledge.
A blur of a shadow. The sudden thump of boots hitting the pavement. A presence behind me—too fast to react to. A hand gripped the back of my shirt and yanked me off my feet.
My back hit the alley wall with a dull impact, thanks to my backpack it wasn't so hard.
Before I could process the pain, fingers closed around my collar, and I was lifted just enough to make the ground feel optional.
"Mr. Murdock—I—!"
Wrong move.
He shoved me harder against the wall, head tilting—not in confusion, but like he was scanning me with something deeper than sight.
His voice came low, sharp, steady.
"What do you know?"
I struggled to keep my voice steady. "I—I wasn't trying to—"
He snapped, closer now. "Who sent you?"
"I didn't—no one sent me! I swear, this isn't some trap or setup—look, I'm not blackmailing you, I'm not trying to sell you out—I just—!"
His grip didn't tighten, but it didn't loosen either. He didn't need to move. I could feel him reading me like a lie detector strapped to a heartbeat.
Then came the silence.
Long enough to make me sweat. He was listening—hyper-focused. My pulse, my breath, the nerves rattling through my chest like a drum solo.
"Talk" he said. Just one word.
I swallowed, hard.
"I need your help" I said, my voice barely above a breath. "Okay? Just... listen for a second."
Silence.
No movement.
"So you thought whispering my name like a signal flare and baiting me into a dark alley was a good plan?"
I winced. "Yeah, okay. That was dumb. But I knew if I just asked, you'd never show up. I needed you to see me."
Another long pause.
"I already saw you."
"But you're— yeah, sorry."
His grip finally let go.
I slid down the wall, breath catching in my throat, knees buckling just a bit before I straightened.
"You've got thirty seconds." he said. "Tell me everything."
Words tumbled out faster than I wanted—disjointed, messy, but honest. The fire. Cletus. Visit to the hospital. Not the plan on killing him though.
When I finally stopped, He was silent.
Too silent.
Then he let out a slow breath, like he was trying to exhale the stupidity from the world.
"So let me get this straight." he said, voice low and sharp. "Someone sets a fire. Looks you dead in the eye. Tells you he's gonna be watching you. And your response was to not go to the police?"
"I didn't think they'd—"
"—Do anything?" he cut in. "You think that excuses ignoring a threat like this? I overestimated your intelligence, kid."
Ouch. That one hit harder than the wall.
"I'm not—"
"Shut it." The command cracked like a whip. "You think this is a game?"
I flinched. Couldn't help it.
"You're reckless. And worse—you're dragging other people into your mess. Go home. Stay out of this. And stop playing hero."
He turned—like he was finished with me.
But something flared in my chest. Not courage exactly. Just... heat. Something raw; Angry and tired.
"No" I said. Louder than I meant to.
He stopped. One step short of disappearing.
"I'm not trying to play hero" I said, breath unsteady. "I know I'm not you. I screwed up, okay?! But if something happens to someone—because I decided to do nothing? I don't want to live like that. Not anymore."
A long silence stretched again.
Then he spoke. Quieter now.
"If you really care about people," he said eventually, voice quieter now, but no less sharp, "you'll stay out of it. Let the people who actually know what they're doing handle this."
"I'm not gonna stop hunting him..." I said. "I'm gonna find him. Whether you're with me or not."
He turned just enough that I could see the edge of his red-tinted glasses in the faint light.
"You've got guts..." he said. "Stupid ones. But still."
And just like that—he was gone.
Vanished into the dark like he was never there.
Never met your heroes...
you'll disappoint them.
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Word count: 1.412