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The sirens echoed throughout the area. Red and blue lights reflected off the building windows. The air felt heavy. Fog drifted and thinned through the space.
It didn’t take long for the ambulances to make themselves heard. More and more people appeared for the paramedics to transport to the hospital, forcing them to call for additional units.
Although the rain had helped put out the fire, the firefighters had also done an excellent job containing the flames and pulling out those who had been trapped beneath the rubble of what had once been an office tower.
“Ghostline,” said Timothée Miles, the commissioner.
A young man in a fitted black suit with gray, green, and blue details, and a mask in the same tones, lifted his head.
“Do you need help with that?” he asked, gesturing toward the wound on his arm.
Ghostline, who had been standing with his back turned, watching the firefighters clear away the debris, turned around.
His brown curls were completely soaked, falling over his forehead and sticking to his skin. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, distant, lost. There was a cut near his cheekbone. His hands trembled, though not from the cold.
He shook his head.
“Don’t worry, officer,” his voice came out flat, almost broken. He hid his arm behind him. “I’m fine. It’s nothing serious.”
Miles sighed.
“At least let one of the paramedics bandage you.”
“It’s not necessary. That bandage could help someone who truly needs it. I… my injuries don’t take long to heal.”
The man watched him for a few seconds before nodding. “Thank you for what you did,” he said. “You saved a lot of lives.”
But not all of them, Ghostline thought. The memory of the screams cutting off abruptly—of him not being close enough to stop it—made his skin prickle.
“It’s my job,” he replied. After a few seconds, he spoke again. “I know it’s yours too, but… I’ll be doing patrols over the next few days. Erode disappeared after the collapse, so there’s a chance he’ll strike again. I want to be ready.”
He cleared his throat before adding:
“I don’t want to make today’s mistake again. The collapse and the fire were just a distraction so he could get away. He knew that if there were people in danger, I’d try to save them… and my attention would stop being fully on him.”
Timothée noticed the way his jaw tightened every so often, as if the memory kept forcing its way in.
He swallowed and made sure no one was close enough to hear them. The sirens and the rain striking the concrete swallowed any words that might escape.
“Michael…” he said at last.
The masked boy looked up, startled. He himself had said that using his real name in public wasn’t safe.
“Don’t torture yourself,” he continued. “In any scenario, it wouldn’t have been possible to save everyone.”
“I—”
“You’ve been doing this for a decade. You’ve saved thousands of innocent families. You’ve protected this city from those bastards who call themselves villains because they refuse to accept they’re nothing but scum. You’re a real hero, son. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”
Michael held his gaze for a few seconds, but eventually looked away. Holding eye contact with that man, with that crushing sense of being profoundly insufficient, was unbearably hard.
Timothée placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a brief pat. “You can go, Ghostline. We’ll take it from here.”
Then he turned away to start giving orders to the rest of the police force.
Ghostline cast one last look over the scene: the stretchers, the lights, the wet concrete. The constant wail of sirens crawled under his skin.
He took a step back.
The city answered almost immediately. A faint line appeared along the edge of a nearby building, unfinished, trembling, as if unsure it could hold him. It was short. Enough.
Ghostline didn’t leap. He aligned himself with it and let his body give in.
The world compressed. The air crushed his lungs and pressure rang in his ears. There was no direction, only transit.
He came out the other side with a dull impact against the rain-slick rooftop of another building, bracing one hand against the concrete to keep from falling. His knees shook.
He stayed there for a few seconds, breathing hard, before pushing himself upright.
For a moment, he thought about continuing his patrol.
The city responded at once: a line appeared in front of him. But it fractured almost instantly when his attention drifted to a family walking along the sidewalk below, unaware of everything else.
Ghostline let out a sigh, the kind that feels like it’s been stored in the chest for years.
His head ached. He was soaked through, and the suit clinging to his skin was beginning to irritate it. The day seemed to have wrung every last bit of energy from his body. He needed rest.
I’ll start early tomorrow. I need to go home, he told himself.
This time, the line appeared solid in front of him. Short. Steady.
He let himself fall into it.
The passage ended with his body slamming into a brick wall in an alley he managed to recognize after a few seconds of disorientation.
Luckily, it was fairly close to where he lived. Ghostline pulled himself upright, his body still trembling, and walked a few meters before gripping the fire escape that led to the roof of his apartment complex.
Once up top, he moved until he found his balcony. It wasn’t locked. It never was.
It was the best way in when he wasn’t dressed like an average person.
...
Once inside the apartment, he closed the balcony door carefully, making sure not to make more noise than necessary.
The room wrapped around him at once. It was one of those spaces that never quite fulfill a purpose: a few boxes of unassembled furniture were piled in one corner, untouched, as if time had stopped around them.
Michael moved toward a small bedside table draped with a sheet and leaned against it. The exhaustion hit all at once, nearly buckling his knees, though he managed to stay upright.
Inhale. Exhale. Several times.
Then he began to shed the suit.
First, the gloves. He dragged a hand over his face, feeling the skin still damp beneath his fingers.
Then the boots. His legs still ached from the impact of the lines, so he took his time pulling them off, as if any sudden movement might finally break him.
He unfastened the suit and pulled the zipper down. Slipped his arms out, then his legs. When the fabric slid over his hips, he paused. Breathed. And continued.
Cold brushed against his skin immediately, drawing a shiver from him. The wound on his arm, now free from the suit’s pressure, began to throb more sharply. Michael let out a low groan.
He moved to one of the boxes and opened it carefully. Inside was clean clothing. It was always there. Like the unlocked balcony. A just-in-case that almost never failed.
He pulled on a worn T-shirt and then a pair of sweatpants, comfortable enough for nights like this.
Finally, he removed the mask. He held it in his hands for a few seconds, studying it in silence, before setting it aside, next to the discarded suit on the floor.
The apartment fell silent.
Too silent.
Michael remained standing for a few more seconds, his gaze fixed on the suit on the floor, as if he hadn’t quite come back yet.
Then he heard it.
At first, it was just a low, uneven sound. A short whimper, followed by a pause. Michael tensed, holding his breath.
The sound came again. This time, clearer.
“Alice…” he murmured, almost without realizing it.
The crying began to grow stronger, filling the apartment.
Michael closed his eyes for a second. The exhaustion was still there—heavy, sunk deep into his bones—but it didn’t matter. It never did.
He moved away from the unused room and into the hallway, guided by the sound, leaving Ghostline behind along with the discarded suit on the floor.
Michael approached the bedroom, expecting to find the baby lying in her crib.
When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was Victoria, his wife, holding their daughter in her arms.
Michael froze in the doorway.
Victoria held Alice against her chest, rocking her in slow, repetitive motions, as if her body knew what to do even when her mind was worn thin. The baby’s face was flushed, her tiny fists clenched in the fabric of her mother’s pajama top.
“It’s okay, it’s okay… I’m here,” Victoria murmured, not raising her voice.
Alice answered with a softer sob, though the crying didn’t stop entirely.
Victoria looked up then. Her eyes met Michael’s for a second that felt longer than it was. There was no reproach in them. No immediate relief, either. Just exhaustion.
Michael swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, almost in a whisper.
Victoria didn’t reply right away. She adjusted Alice in her arms, resting the baby’s head against her shoulder, and kept rocking her.
“She’s been awake for a while,” she said at last, quietly. “I thought she might be hungry, but I tried giving her the bottle and she wouldn’t eat. Then I checked her diaper, but that wasn’t it either.”
Michael took a step forward. Then another.
“Do you want me to…?”
Victoria nodded before he could finish the sentence.
Michael stepped fully into the room, stopping in front of them. Alice let out a sharp sob and clutched Victoria’s shirt again with her small fingers.
“Give her to me,” he said finally, holding out his arms. “I’ve got her.”
Victoria hesitated for barely a second before carefully passing the baby to him, as if exhaustion forced her to trust even when she wasn’t entirely sure.
The weight of Alice in his arms was immediate. Real. Far more real than the suit he’d left on the floor minutes earlier.
Michael carefully settled the baby’s head against his shoulder, one steady hand on her back. The crying continued for a few more seconds, uneven, until it slowly began to fade.
“Shh…” he murmured. “It’s over now.”
Alice sobbed one last time before falling quiet, breathing against his neck. Michael closed his eyes for a second, feeling the tremor in his hands, still there, but slowly beginning to ease.
He opened his eyes again. Victoria looked at him, then leaned slightly against the crib, running a hand through her hair.
Michael noticed her eyes were puffy.
“I thought you’d already be asleep,” he said, though part of him knew it wasn’t true.
He knew perfectly well that Victoria was the kind of person who would stay awake all night just to know he made it home safely. To know he was alive.
“I tried,” she replied. “But Alice started crying. I took her and spent a while in the living room trying to get her to fall asleep.”
Victoria fell silent for a few seconds, then went on:
“But I couldn’t. I guess… I guess I still don’t really know how to do this.”
Michael shook his head slowly. “There’s no right way,” he said. “Just… trying.”
Victoria let out a brief, humorless laugh and looked back at the baby.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m failing her,” she murmured.
Michael shifted so he was facing her. Carefully, he adjusted Alice more securely in his arm and rocked her in gentle, almost automatic motions.
“Don’t say that,” he replied. “She’s here. You’re here. That’s enough.”
Alice stirred slightly, settling against his chest.
Victoria watched the scene in silence. The crying had faded completely. The baby was fully surrendered to sleep.
Michael lowered his gaze to Alice, then looked back at his wife.
“She looks a lot like you,” he said at last.
Victoria didn’t answer. Her eyes drifted to Alice as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was slow, almost absentminded.
She stayed like that for a few more seconds, in silence, until she lifted her gaze. Then she looked at him.
Not at the man holding their daughter so carefully, nor at the father who had managed to calm her when she couldn’t. She looked at him closely.
Michael felt the weight of that look.
Victoria’s eyes traced the cut near his cheekbone, the stiffness in his posture, the way his left arm remained slightly tense. She had noticed it before. Of course she had. But she hadn’t wanted to break the moment. Alice needed calm more than questions.
Michael lowered his gaze, unconsciously. “It’s nothing,” he murmured, almost by reflex.
Victoria stepped forward and, gently, held out her arms. Michael understood. He handed Alice to her without a word.
Before laying her in the crib, Victoria tilted her head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Then she straightened.
She turned back to Michael.
“The first-aid kit is in the bathroom,” she said. “Sit on the couch, I’ll get it.”
She left the room, and Michael walked toward the living room, listening as she rummaged through the drawers.
He let himself sink into the couch with difficulty, letting out a groan once he was finally seated.
Victoria came back with the kit, alcohol, and cotton. Michael watched her as she settled beside him. Victoria took his arm carefully. Her face looked calm, though her eyes betrayed concern.
“This is going to hurt.”
Seconds later, she began to clean the wound.
Michael felt his whole body tense. He clenched his jaw.
“Ah… shit,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
Victoria didn’t stop.
“I know,” she murmured. “Breathe.”
Michael let out a humorless laugh.
“I’m trying.”
She pressed the cotton gently, cleaning what she could. Michael let his head fall back against the couch.
Silence settled between them, broken only by his uneven breathing and the faint sound of cotton brushing against skin.
Victoria finished bandaging the wound and left her hand resting on his arm for a second longer. Then she pulled it away.
She gathered the supplies and set them on the coffee table, then leaned fully back into the couch. Her gaze drifted to some place Michael couldn’t quite follow.
Michael glanced at the wall clock. 12:49 a.m.
The kitchen light was still on. The container of powdered formula sat on the counter beside a half-finished bottle. Off to the side, a plate of food lay completely untouched.
Michael turned toward her.
“Did you eat anything?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
She simply shook her head.
“I was watching the news when Alice started crying. I forgot to put the plate away,” she said, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, letting her head fall into her hands. Her hair completely covered her face. “I saw what happened.”
Michael stayed quiet. He didn’t really know what to say.
The last few days had been hard. Things were getting complicated, and he’d been coming home injured more often. And he knew how much that stressed her.
He remained silent for a few seconds longer.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said at last, quietly. “It was only meant to be tonight.”
Victoria didn’t lift her head.
“It’s never just one night,” she replied.
Michael rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward, mirroring her posture.
“People needs—” he started, then stopped. “If I don’t go—”
“I know,” she interrupted, not harshly. “I’ve always known.”
Victoria looked up then. Her eyes were red, but steady.
“But I need you,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Here.”
The word hung between them.
Michael didn’t answer right away. He looked at her, waiting for her to continue, as if he knew that if he spoke too soon, something would break.
Victoria’s lip trembled. She tried to steady it, but failed.
She brought both hands back to her face, covering it completely. Her shoulders drew inward.
“I don’t want Alice to grow up without you. I’m not capable enough for that.”
The silence that followed was different. Heavier.
Michael felt something press against his chest. He didn’t look away.
Victoria let out a small sob.
“She cries and cries,” she murmured, still not looking at him. “I hold her, I rock her, I talk to her… and still.”
Her voice faltered for a second.
“Still I can’t make her feel safe.”
Michael thought about moving closer, wrapping his arms around her, but stopped himself. He didn’t want to interrupt her.
Victoria slowly lowered her hands. Her cheeks were damp, her eyes glassy.
“And then I think maybe I’m not enough,” she said, as if confessing something that had been biting at her throat for days. “That if you’re not here… everything falls apart.”
Tears began to spill, and she didn’t try to stop them.
“What kind of mother am I,” she asked, her voice breaking, “if I can’t even make my daughter feel safe enough to stop crying?”
The question wasn’t meant for Michael.
It was meant for herself.
“Tori…”
Her name came out low, almost broken.
Michael leaned toward her and wrapped both arms around her. His body protested as he did, the ache flared along his side, the bandaged arm tensed. It didn’t matter. In that moment, she needed to be held. And Victoria had always been the one who held him.
They settled awkwardly on the couch. Michael leaned back slightly, and she ended up partly against his chest, as if her body had found that place by instinct. He held her carefully, adjusting the embrace until it no longer felt fragile.
He ran a hand through her hair, slowly, again and again, following the same motion she used when he was the one shaking. With the other, he lifted her face, holding her gently by the chin.
He looked at her.
Her blue eyes were full of tears, too heavy to stay where they were. The dark circles beneath them marked her exhaustion, deep and unmistakable. Even so, she was still beautiful. Not in an unbroken way, but in a real one.
“Look at me,” he said softly. Victoria did.
“Don’t say that,” he went on. “Not about yourself.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“Alice doesn’t need a perfect mother,” he murmured. “She needs you. The one who stays up. The one who’s scared because she loves too much. The one who doubts… because she cares.”
Michael’s thumb brushed her cheek, catching a tear before it fell.
“You’re not failing,” he said. “You’re exhausted.”
Victoria let out a silent sob and clutched his shirt, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.
“And I’m here,” he added, his voice steadier now. “Not just today. Here.”
He held her a little tighter.
“I’m not going to let you carry this alone.”
Victoria took a deep breath, as though she needed to gather the courage to say it.
“I’m scared,” she murmured against his chest.
Michael lowered his head slightly, trying to see her face, but she still wouldn’t look up.
“I’m scared that one day you won’t come back,” she continued, her voice breaking. “That I’ll see it on the news. That someone will say your name as if you’re no longer… you.”
She fell silent for a few seconds, swallowing hard. “I’m scared they’re going to kill you.”
Michael looked at her then.
There was no surprise in his expression. No anger. Just a heavy, familiar understanding, as if that fear had been living inside him for a long time too.
Carefully, he lifted her face again.
“That’s not going to happen,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud. It was steady. “I won’t let them.”
Victoria shook her head slightly, tears filling her eyes again.
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he admitted. “But I can promise I’ll do everything I can to come back to you. To all of you.”
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“Every night,” he added. “Even when it hurts. Even when I’m scared.”
He held her more tightly for a moment.
“I’m not invincible, Tori. But I’m not alone, either.”
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, as if those words were the only thing keeping her upright.
Michael ran his hand through her hair again, slow and gentle. “And as long as I’m breathing,” he murmured, “I’ll keep coming home.”
Victoria finally allowed herself to sink a little further into his embrace.
And this time, she didn’t say anything else.