s

intelligence comes easily to her, almost unnervingly so. what others spend months learning, she absorbs in days. but her discipline doesn't end in the classroom. years of relentless physical training has also given her the advantage of having full control over her body—precise, efficient and calculated, just how she's always wanted

scarlet doesn't just think faster than the average person. she moves faster too

turning point

scarlet knows exactly how the system works—which is why she doesn't believe in it

it only acts as a blanket of comfort, false comfort. not built to protect, but to reassure. an illusion designed to keep the majority in line and quiet, while the unfortunate suffer

she used to believe it served its purpose, that it kept the vulnerable safe and protected, but that belief didn't last—not after being a witness to the countless buried cases, voices ignored and lives dismantled without consequences

so when she stood there, staring down at the lifeless body on the ground, she felt...nothing

no, that's not true. she definitely felt something. not guilt. not hesitation.

relief

a quiet, faintly familiar sense that, she, for once had done something right. in her defense, it was necessary. he would have killed that girl the minute he stepped into the apartment

this wasn't cruelty or impulse, this was correction—at least that's what scarlet told herself

friend or foe

meeting the matthew murdock wasn't something scarlet had planned or really imagined happening. yet, not only did they meet, but she'd made such an impression that he had asked her out. she said yes. of course she did.

there was something about him. not just the blindness, that was the east interesting thing. it was the way he carried himself, like he was constantly aware of more than he let on. he was careful. controlled. he was a lawyer, after all. that alone meant he was hiding something. the question was what

still, it hurt wouldn't hurt? in the worst case scenario, she's just found herself a lawyer in case she ever needs one, considering her recent...incident. the death of the 34-year-old male was neatly dismissed as a hit and run, the irony

after a few weeks, she found herself enjoying his company more than she expected. he was funny and surprisingly easy to talk to. but the inconsistencies didn't go unnoticed. the bruises came first. subtle at a distance, however harder to ignore up close. knuckles split open. a healing cut along his jaw. the kind of damage that didn't come from accidents.

it didn't take long to piece it together. scarlet had seen enough violence to recognize it tried to hide. he wasn't just a lawyer. watching the news, she put it together easily, matt didn't know she knew. and for now she preferred it that way. she liked him. more than she should. which meant no reason to rush

let him lie, explain, whatever

she'd listen and wait

accident

then came the day where scarlet found him unconscious. the rooftop was quiet when she stepped put, the city's noises becoming indifferent. she hadn't expected to see anyone up there—especially not him. not like that.

matt lay sprawled near the edge, unmoving, his body twisted and deeply injured. even in the dim light, the damage was obvious—blood, bruises and cuts all over. she didn't hesitate. she dropped to her knees and rapidly checked his body for broken bones

"matt? matt! wake up" he didn't budge

nothing for a moment. then, he inhaled sharply

"frank"

"frank castle"

she sighed. "i know" she replied in a collected voice