in silence for what was probably only a few seconds, but felt like much longer, Sarah with her mouth hanging open and Lauren with the mask gripped tightly in her hand.

"Lauren. What...what are you doing here?" Sarah asked finally.

"Greg's dad is in the hospital," Lauren answered slowly, still appearing to be very much shell-shocked by the situation. "He had to catch a flight home tonight. I don't like staying in the apartment by myself. I called you, but...you didn't answer."

Sarah glanced at her cell phone, which still sat on her dining room table on silent mode, which she had forgotten to switch off after work.

Lauren was again looking uneasily at the blood on the windowsill, apparently unable to look away. "Is...is that your blood?"

Sarah looked at the blood and then at her stricken friend before snapping out of her daze. "No! No. It's not mine. I'm fine."

"Right. I'm guessing it belongs to the guy who just jumped out your bedroom window, then. Which, I might add, is on the fifth floor. Is he insane? He must be painted on sidewalk now."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly, and before she processed what she was doing, she found herself moving into the bedroom and over to the window. Unlike the one in the living room, this one didn't open onto a fire escape. The window was still open, and she leaned out and looked down, squinting into the dark alley below. There were several other fire escapes and scaffolding nearby. The light from the streetlamps was dim, but she didn't see any black-clad figures lying anywhere below.

She leaned back in, oddly relieved. She knew Matt wouldn't actually jump out of a window if there was no where for him to jump to, but he had seemed noticeably off his game tonight—she probably should have checked to see if he had another concussion. Sliding the window closed and locking it, she turned around to see that Lauren had trailed her into the room. The other woman lingered in the doorway, still looking stunned by the night's events, although Sarah could see it quickly fading into anger and alarm.

The situation didn't improve when Lauren's gaze fell across Sarah's desk, which was still littered in broken glass and bloody disinfecting wipes.

"Oh, good," she said faintly. "More blood. Have you always performed surgery out of your bedroom? What the hell is going on, Sarah?"

"It's...it's a long story," Sarah said pleadingly.

"Give me the Cliff Notes version?"

"Well...it's—we—I mean....um," Sarah stuttered to a stop.

Lauren stared at her. "Okay, less Cliff Note-y than that. I need more words. Nouns maybe. Or verbs."

But Sarah felt like she was frozen. She couldn't tell Lauren anything, not without putting her in danger. Especially not with Matt undoubtedly still lurking somewhere nearby, listening. Even if he wasn't, there was no way she could expose Lauren to the dangers of the world she found herself living in these days. But there was no way of brushing this off, giving the same half-answers she'd been giving for almost a year and then changing the subject.

"I—I know you probably have a lot of questions—"

"Yes, I have questions!" Lauren exclaimed. "How do you even know him? And since when? Why is he bleeding all over your apartment? Was he pulling his shirt back on when I walked in? What—what the hell is even going in your life right now?"

Sarah brought her hands to her mouth, shaking her head as she looked at her friend helplessly. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell you. It would put you in danger."

If it was possible for Lauren's eyes to go wider in disbelief, they did.

"You're joking." Lauren waited for her friend to respond, but Sarah remained silent. "Oh, my God. You're not joking. Sarah, this—this is serious stuff. You could get hurt, o-or killed, or arrested—or all three. That guy who just jumped out your window is Daredevil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. How does that sound like a safe person to be friends with?"

"It's not that simple. He's—he's not the bad guy, I swear. Just, please trust me—"

"Trust you?" Lauren repeated. "This whole last year, you've been hiding things from me. Ever since you quit your job. And now—now this?" Lauren flung the mask down on the table angrily.

"I know. I know, I'm so sorry. It wasn't safe to involve you in anything that's been going on. It's still not."

"What does that even mean? How does me knowing stuff put me in danger?"

"Knowing too much is what put me in danger. I just—I can't tell you about him. Or about any of it. I can't," Sarah repeated forcefully.

Lauren shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "You've never stood up for yourself a goddamn day in your life, and the first time you actually decide to do it is to protect a vigilante?"

"I'm not just protecting him, I'm protecting you, too," Sarah snapped.

"From what? If he's not the bad guy, then what do you need to protect me from?"

Images of Ronan and Jason flashed through her mind. Sarah bit her tongue again, painfully aware of the fact that there were three people listening to this conversation, even if one of them wasn't in the room. She tried to find the words to calm her friend down, but her silence just hung in the air between them.

"Okay," Lauren said quietly. "Clearly there's no reason for me to be here, then. I'm going home."

As much as Sarah wanted to tell her not to go, there was no point in having her stay. There was nothing that Sarah could tell her that would make her understand without giving her information that was dangerous to know.

"Lauren..."

"If you decide that you actually feel like telling your best friend about the things going on in your life, come find me."

Lauren waited a beat for her to respond. Sarah just nodded tightly, blinking away the prickling sensation behind her eyes as Lauren walked out, slamming the front door behind her.

Sarah stood completely still for a minute in the silence of her apartment.

"Shit," she whispered, pushing her hair out of her face. She kicked the leg of the table next to her in frustration. "Shit."

A few moments later, she heard the familiar noise of Matt landing lightly on the fire escape. He was one of the very last people she wanted to talk to right now, and she briefly debated just going to her room, getting into bed, and ignoring his knock on the window. Instead, she reluctantly made her way over to the window to let him in and begin the argument that would undoubtedly ensue, quickly scanning the room along the way for anything fragile, just in case.

Once Matt was inside the apartment and the window was closed behind him, the two of them stood in silence for a few long moments.

"What's she going to do?"

Sarah hesitated before answering. She really didn't want a repeat of the last time Matt had overheard her talking to someone about him; especially since this time, it wouldn't just be her on his radar.

"Nothing."

Matt's jaw twitched and he threw her a doubtful look. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Sarah repeated firmly. He still looked unconvinced, so she sighed and continued. "Lauren has been my friend for a long time. She's not going to do anything that she thinks would put me in more danger."

"How do you know she won't go to the police if she thinks that's what will keep you safe?"

"She knows how I feel about the police in this city. She doesn't trust them any more than I do. Besides, she's not the type to freak out about stuff like this. It's—it's just the surprise that's making her mad. No one likes being lied to," Sarah said. Matt just rubbed hand over his mouth angrily, pacing around the small area. "Did she...did she see your face? Could you tell?"

He shook his head. "I heard the door opening and thought it was you coming back. But I realized the heartbeat wasn't right before she came into the room. She just saw my back for a second as I was leaving."

Leaving seemed like an excessively casual way to describe jumping from a fifth-story window, but Sarah wasn't about to argue that at the moment.

Matt finally stopped pacing. "I need to go."

Relieved to be left alone, Sarah picked his mask up from the table to hand to him, but stopped as something occurred to her.

"Go...where?" she asked nervously.

"What?" Matt asked.

"What are you going to do?"

He tilted his head back and exhaled. "I need to make sure she doesn't go to the police."

Her eyes widened slightly, and she automatically took a step away from him, still holding his mask. "Make sure how?"

"I'm just going to listen in," he told her impatiently, holding his hand out again for the mask. "If she decides to call the police or involve other people, I need to know. She won't even know I'm there."

Sarah hesitated, but didn't move to give him the mask. Instead, she took another step back.

Matt slowly cocked his head. "Sarah...give me my mask."

She winced at the warning note in his tone and grasped the fabric in her hands tighter. "Just...okay. Say that you...you know, parkour over to her apartment, and she is on the phone with the police. Then what?"

Matt faltered slightly—apparently he hadn't yet given much thought to what his next step would be in that situation.

"Then at least we know. And we can be prepared for the police and probably some of your coworkers to suddenly show up at your doorstep."

"That's it?" Sarah asked skeptically, twisting the mask nervously in her fingers. "Y-you just let her call the police. No swooping down and—and threatening her, or whatever."

"No, I'm not going to drop down and interrogate a pregnant woman. But I also can't just take your word for it that she won't tell anyone what she saw. Now give me my mask."

She shook her head, taking a few more steps back. Matt matched her movements, keeping within a yard of her but not coming any closer.

"Sarah—"

"What if you change your mind when you get there? I know what you look like when you're angry. I've seen it kind of a lot. The heavy breathing, and the jaw twitch, and the—the hand thing," she said, gesturing towards the way his right hand unconsciously clenched and unclenched by his side. "If you're going to flip your shit, do it here. Do it with me. Not with Lauren."

As the words came out of her mouth, a small voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her for being stupid. Note To Self: Do not invite the dangerous vigilante to flip his shit on you.

"I'm angry because you won't give me my mask," he said pointedly, taking a step towards her. "Not one of your better plans, by the way."

"Not—not the best, maybe. Matt, I'm telling you, she's not going to talk to anyone," Sarah said pleadingly. "I trust her—"

"That's not good enough for me," he snapped. Then, taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said evenly, "I need my mask in order to leave. And I'd really like it if you didn't make me take it from you."

His tone was threatening, but his expression and posture just looked incredibly exhausted. Which was possibly why he hadn't already made a move to take the mask away from her.

There was a beat during which Sarah still clutched the black fabric, chewing the inside of her cheek anxiously. Finally, she held the mask out slowly for him to take. He took it and slipped it over his eyes immediately, then worked his black gloves back onto his hands before heading towards the window.

Sarah sank into one of the dining room chairs, feeling completely drained as she leaned forward and let her head fall into her hands. To be honest, she didn't really think Matt would hurt Lauren—she believed him when he said he would just be listening. But somehow it felt like she was failing to protect her friend anyway, after she had already failed her once tonight.

"Sarah."

She jumped slightly. The room had been so silent that she had assumed Matt had already gone, but when she looked up he was standing in front of the open window with his head turned back towards her.

"I'm not going to do anything to your friend. I promise."

Sarah was pretty sure Lauren wouldn't call herself Sarah's friend anymore—not after tonight, at least. But she just nodded numbly and let her head drop back down into her hands. The next time she looked up, he was gone.

A long time passed before she finally stood, walking towards the kitchen to find something that would clean the blood off her window.

--

A few hours later, Matt let himself into his apartment through the roof-top door. He leaned against the wall for a few moments, allowing himself to sink into the aches in his body before slowly descending the stairs.

For all of Sarah's concern about him following Lauren home, the results had been—thankfully—uneventful. It had taken him a few minutes to catch up to the cab she had taken, which was stuck at an intersection, trying to detour around some night-time construction. Her heartbeat had been erratic, and her breathing deep, as though she'd been trying to calm down. But she hadn't said anything while in the cab, and he'd stuck around listening for a while after she'd let herself into her apartment, waiting to see if she called the police. But all he'd heard was her crying herself to sleep.

Matt pulled his mask off and collapsed onto the couch, debating whether or not he felt like bothering to shower and mess with his bandages before going to sleep. He shifted slightly, then inhaled sharply as his bruised ribs protested the movement. It almost distracted him from the stinging pain that went down his neck and across his back. Sleep definitely sounded like the much more tempting option than moving around. But first he needed to deal with the nagging feeling in the back of his mind over how he'd left things with Sarah.

Obviously he'd been irritated—to say the least—when she had refused to hand his mask over. But, he had to admit to himself, it wasn't like he hadn't given her reason to be nervous about him being around her friend. He'd done his best to keep calm during their argument, but somehow it still felt like he had done wrong by her, again. The least he could do was let her know that nothing bad had happened between him and her friend.

Matt's normal, non-burner phone was still on the side table next to him, and he fumbled to unlock the screen, sliding his fingers across the well-memorized areas of the screen that would enable the phone's voice dictation.

"Text Sarah," he spoke clearly into the phone.

"Draft text to: Sarah. What would you like to send?"

"Lauren is fine...she didn't talk to anyone." He hesitated for a second, then added, "I'm sorry about earlier. I wasn't going to hurt either of you."

The phone took a second to catch up, then the automated voice read the text message back to him before asking, "Send Text?"

Matt fidgeted with the mask in his left hand, rubbing the fabric between his fingers as he debated. Finally, he shook his head.

"Discard text," he told the phone.

"Text discarded. Draft new message?"

Matt dictated the new text: "Your friend is fine. She didn't talk to anyone."

"Send Text?"

He sighed, before running a hand down his face and mumbling, "Yeah, I guess so."

There was a pause.

"Send text?" the phone repeated, somehow insistent even in its monotone.

Matt groaned and moved his hand away from his mouth.

"Yes," he said tiredly. "Send text."

"Text sent."

Matt had planned to move from the couch to the bed at some point, but found that he was too drained. Instead he just leaned his head back against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, already regretting the pain he knew he'd have in his neck in the morning.

--

Sarah was still awake when her phone buzzed with a new text message. She knew who it was immediately—no one else texted her this late. The text simply read: Your friend is fine. She didn't talk to anyone.

She rolled her eyes. Terse and to the point, as usual. But at least he had let her know. She closed the message without replying and went to bed, hoping to get at least a few hours of sleep before the morning came.

There was no such luck, and she found herself awake the entire night, tossing in her bed as she ran through a million scenarios for what she could do about Lauren. None of them worked—there was no scenario in which Lauren could know nothing and still remain her friend. But she couldn't know about Orion without knowing that Sarah was working with Matt, and there was no way Sarah could tell her anything about Matt without him finding out.

And so the next day she found herself with no more answers than the night before—only dark, tired rings under her eyes and a hopeless, empty feeling in her chest. She was currently stuck in traffic, struggling with a particularly stubborn gearshift. Jason had given her the number of a space in a public garage where she would find the car she was supposed to drive to a warehouse down by the river, failing to mention that the car was roughly a thousand years old, and that the gearshift had rusted so badly it barely worked. She had taken a look in the trunk to see what exactly she was transporting, but whatever it was had been locked away in an assortment of metal containers. She could feel it weighing the back tires down as she drove.

Sarah finally got to her destination and slowly stopped the car in front of the gate, leaning forward over the steering wheel and craning her neck so that she could peer up at the building. It looked like a typical warehouse, with old cars and scrap metal littering the area outside.

She rolled down her window and reached for the security box next to the gate, where she punched in the code that Jason had given her. With a clanking noise, the gate started to slide open, and she steered the car through. She glanced in her rearview mirror nervously as the gate slid shut again behind her, then pulled up to the building and shut the car off, fiddling with the pepper spray on her keys before she pulled them out of the ignition and opened the car door.

As her shoes crunched against the gravel, she finally caught sight of another person on the property, sitting at an old picnic table next to a car on cylinder blocks. The guy looked to be in his late teens—maybe a high school senior. He was idly toying with the short twists in his hair while reading a thick text book. Sarah craned her neck slightly to read the cover: AP Psychology. Definitely a high school student, then. She frowned. Why would someone so young be involved in anything to do with Orion?

When he looked up from his book and spotted her, his expression changed from neutral to one of distrust and—maybe she was imagining it—nervousness.

"Um, hi," she said with an awkward wave.

"Hang on," he said, closing the book and getting up from his chair. "I'll get my dad."

"Your...dad?"

"Yeah," he said coldly. "My family owns this place. Or, we did. Until you guys decided you wanted it."

Sarah didn't know what to say to that. She'd had no idea this warehouse even existed, much less what had gone down when Orion had taken it over. But she knew from experience that when the higher-ups at Orion wanted something, they didn't generally care about the people it originally belonged to.

"Dad!" the boy called into the open warehouse. "That lady from Orion is here."