CHAPTER 11: RECOVERY
The bell above the door jingled as I walked into Nelson & Murdock, arms full of coffee and donuts.
"Roy!" Foggy was out of his chair before I'd taken three steps. "Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead."
"Just food poisoning." I set the boxes on the nearest desk. "Bad street food. Spent two days wishing I was dead, but I pulled through."
Karen appeared from the back room, and before I could react, she'd wrapped me in a hug. Brief but fierce. "We called you seventeen times."
"I know. I'm sorry. I was—" I mimed vomiting. "Not in any condition to talk."
"You could have texted." Foggy was still fussing, checking me over like I might collapse at any moment. "One text. 'Not dead.' Would have taken five seconds."
"You're right. I'm sorry." I meant it. The worry in their faces was genuine—the kind of worry you only see from people who actually care. "I promise to text next time I'm dying of embarrassment."
Karen laughed, tension breaking. She reached for the donut box. "Please tell me there's jelly-filled."
"Would I let you down?"
She found her donut and bit into it with a satisfied sound. Foggy claimed the cruller, because of course he did. They fell into an easy argument about which donuts were superior, voices overlapping, gestures emphatic.
I watched them and felt something warm settle in my chest.
This is what family feels like.
The thought came unbidden. In my old life, I'd never had this—never had people who worried when I disappeared, who celebrated when I returned. The Smiths had been distant. Professional. Our dinners were silent affairs, everyone eating quickly before retreating to their own corners.
But here, in this cramped office with its water-stained ceiling and secondhand furniture, I'd found something real.
Matt's voice cut through the moment. "Roy."
He stood in the doorway to his office, face turned in my direction. Not quite looking at me—he never quite looked at anyone—but focused in a way that made my skin prickle.
"Matt." I kept my voice casual. "Donut?"
"No. Thank you." He moved closer, steps careful, precise. "Foggy said you were sick."
"Food poisoning. Street vendor on 42nd. Won't make that mistake again."
His hand found mine, shaking it firmly. And then he stopped.
Just for a second. So brief that Foggy and Karen didn't notice, too busy arguing about whether bear claws counted as real donuts.
But I noticed.
His head tilted. That listening pose I'd learned to recognize. He was checking something—my heartbeat, probably, or some other biological tell that his senses could read.
And something was different.
I saw it in the slight tension of his jaw. The way his grip tightened fractionally before releasing. Whatever he was hearing, it wasn't what he expected.
"Glad you're feeling better," he said. The words were perfectly neutral.
"Thanks."
He turned and walked back to his office. Didn't say anything else. Didn't need to.
He knows something changed.
I grabbed a donut—maple glazed, my favorite—and took a bite. Forced myself to chew normally. To look normal.
Karen and Foggy didn't notice anything wrong. They were too busy debating, too relieved to have me back. But Matt's silence hung in the air like smoke.
The morning passed in a blur of paperwork and phone calls.
Karen had been busy during my absence. The Union Allied investigation was progressing—the forensic accountant I'd hired had found three shell companies funneling money to unknown recipients. The security team reported no further incidents. The legal case was building.
"We're going to win this," Karen said, spreading files across the conference table. "I can feel it."
I believed her. Karen Page had the kind of conviction that moved mountains.
Foggy left around noon, heading to the courthouse for a hearing on another case. Karen retreated to her desk to make calls. The office grew quiet.
Matt's door opened.
"Roy. A word."
It wasn't a request.
I followed him into his office. He closed the door behind us, moving to stand by the window—always by the window, I'd noticed, where the sounds of the city could reach him.
"Food poisoning," he said flatly.
"That's what I said."
"Your heart rate's steady. You believe what you're saying." He turned, and even through the red-tinted glasses, I could feel the weight of his attention. "But you're not telling me everything."
He can't actually read minds, I reminded myself. He just hears really well.
"I was attacked." The words came out before I could stop them. Partial truth—enough to satisfy without revealing everything. "In my apartment. Union Allied, probably. Connected to Karen's case."
Matt's expression didn't change. "What happened?"
"Three guys. I got lucky. Managed to fight them off and run." I shrugged. "Laid low for a couple days until I was sure they weren't coming back."
"You fought off three men."
"Like I said. Lucky."
"You don't have any training. You're not a fighter." His head tilted again. "How exactly does a man with no combat experience beat three professional thugs?"
Adrenaline. Desperation. A power I don't understand.
"I don't know," I said. Which was true. "I just... reacted."
Matt was quiet for a long moment. I could feel him listening—not just to my words, but to my heartbeat, my breathing, all the tiny biological signals that told him whether I was lying.
"You're not telling me everything," he said finally. "But what you are telling me is true."
"Yes."
"Why hide the attack?"
"Because I don't want Foggy and Karen to worry. Because the case is more important than my paranoia." I met his glasses. "Because sometimes people need to be protected from information that would only distract them."
Something flickered in Matt's expression. Recognition, maybe. Understanding.
"Be careful, Roy." His voice softened slightly. "This city eats people who aren't ready."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He moved past me, opening the door. The conversation was over.
But as I stepped into the hallway, I felt his attention on my back. Still watching. Still listening.
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was keeping an eye on me now.
I'd have to be more careful.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1