Newfound Resolve

The ride back was quiet at first, the soft hum of the car's engine filling the silence. The city lights blurred past in streaks of yellow and white, and Remond leaned his head back, eyes half-closed, trying to ease the tension coiling in his shoulders.

Rebecca, behind the wheel, glanced at him through the rearview mirror, eyebrows knitted with concern and curiosity. Alina, in the passenger seat, was unusually quiet, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

Finally, Rebecca broke the silence. "You know," she started, voice casual but probing, "for a guy who pulls in a decent paycheck, you've got a pretty modest setup, Remond."

Remond cracked an eye open, smirking faintly. "Is that your subtle way of saying my apartment's a dump?"

She snorted. "It's called curiosity. I just don't get why you stick to that tiny apartment when you could buy a decent house. Better view, more space, less chance of getting mugged outside."

Alina glanced back at him, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "She's got a point," she added softly. "Is it a money thing? Because if you need—"

"It's not that," Remond cut in, tone light but final. He turned to look out the window, the passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face. "I just like the nostalgia."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Nostalgia for what? Leaky pipes and peeling wallpaper?"

"Something like that," Remond replied, smirk widening a fraction.

Alina's eyes narrowed, seizing the opening. "So it's about your past," she said slowly. "Spill it out already! I am dying to know what your past was."

Remond's jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he shrugged, forcing a casual tone. "Not much to talk about."

Rebecca chuckled dryly. "Right," she drawled. "Just a guy with mysterious combat skills and a soft spot for crappy apartments. Totally normal."

"Dark secrets," Remond corrected smoothly, eyes glinting with faint amusement. "Some things are better left in the past."

Alina's gaze softened, concern flickering across her face. "Maybe," she said quietly. "But sometimes sharing helps."

Remond didn't reply, letting the silence fall heavy between them.

---

A Midnight Encounter

By the time they pulled up near his apartment complex, the streets were nearly deserted, the chill of night settling in. Remond slid out of the car, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, inclining his head.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Just don't make a habit of it," she shot back. "I'm not your chauffeur."

Remond smirked. "Could've fooled me."

She flipped him off with a lazy grin before pulling away, the taillights disappearing into the dark.

Remond watched them go, expression slipping into something more guarded once he was alone. He turned, heading for the apartment entrance, but paused at the sound of muffled footsteps.

Down the street, a woman was walking briskly, clutching her purse tightly. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting jittery shadows.

Then, almost too fast to process, two figures lunged out of the darkness—hoods pulled low, faces obscured. One grabbed the purse, yanking hard, while the other shoved the woman back. She hit the ground with a cry, the thieves already sprinting away.

Remond's hands clenched at his sides, eyes narrowing. He could stop them. It would take less than a minute.

But then Vaughn's warning echoed in his head. The interrogation room. Greene's cold eyes. Stay out of trouble.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his feet to move—away from the scene, toward his apartment.

Stay out of trouble. Keep a low profile.

But he barely made it half a block before he cursed under his breath, pivoting on his heel.

---

The Masked Vigilante

The thieves cut through a series of side streets, slipping into an alley littered with old crates and discarded beer bottles. Their laughter was harsh and breathless, echoing off the brick walls.

"Did you see her face?" one of them wheezed, voice muffled under his hood. "Stupid chick didn't even—"

He broke off with a startled yelp as a dark figure dropped into the alley, landing light and silent on the balls of his feet. A black mask covered the lower half of Remond's face, concealing his features.

The thieves froze, eyes widening. "Who the—"

Remond moved.

His fist drove into the first thug's gut with a brutal efficiency, air whooshing out of the man's lungs in a strangled gasp. The second barely had time to react before Remond twisted, sweeping his legs out from under him with a fluid motion.

The fight was over in seconds—both men sprawled on the ground, groaning.

Remond exhaled slowly, shaking out his hands. Sloppy. Too rushed.

He snagged the stolen purse, ignoring the pained whimpers from the thieves, and disappeared back into the shadows before they could process what had happened.

---

A Midnight Return

The woman was still sitting on the curb where they'd left her, palms scraped raw, eyes wide and teary. She looked up with a start when Remond approached, mask still covering his face.

He stopped a few feet away, tossing the purse lightly. She caught it on reflex, blinking in shock.

"Th-thank you," she stammered, eyes wide. "I—I don't—"

"Get home safe," Remond cut in, voice low and roughened with the mask. Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply, melting back into the darkness.

---

Back to the Shadows

His apartment was dark and silent when he slipped inside, locking the door behind him. Remond pulled off the mask with a rough jerk, tossing it onto the worn-out couch.

He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes, breath coming slow and heavy. His knuckles were raw, bruises already blooming.

He stared at them for a moment, jaw clenching. Damn it. This wasn't staying low. This was asking for trouble.

His eyes drifted to the mask—plain black fabric, the only thing between his face and the world. He cursed softly under his breath.

"Stupid," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Real subtle, Cain."

But even as he glared at the mask, some small, frustrated part of him knew it wouldn't be the last time he put it on.

Because he could ignore a lot of things—suspicion, warnings, even the demons clawing at his own conscience. But not that. Not people getting hurt when he could stop it.

And somewhere in the darkness, a phone rang, a call was made, and a voice that spoke in shadows whispered one name.

"Remond Cain."