The rain had tapered to a soft drizzle by the time Eli reached the church. Mist clung to the gutters like smoke, the kind that drifted after something had burned too long.
He stepped up the stone steps, the wood of the church doors swollen and weathered with time. When he pushed one open, it groaned with a long, tired creak that sounded like it hadn't been moved in weeks.
Inside, the sanctuary held that old holy silence. The kind that didn't just quiet the room, but swallowed it. It wrapped around Eli like a shroud, and for the first time in days, his shoulders eased just slightly.
Stained glass windows spilled fractured light across the pews that had reds, blues, golds dancing in the morning haze. The scent of old wax, incense, and aged wood clung to the air like memory.
Eli's boots echoed against the stone floor as he walked down the center aisle. No weapons. No mask. Just jeans, a dark hoodie, and a threadbare coat still damp from the rain.
He stopped halfway down and slid into the third pew from the front the very same one where his parents used to sit every Sunday. Where his mother would sing, soft and sure, while his father sat still with closed eyes, mouthing the words like a prayer he'd long since memorized.
That was years ago.
Before the fire.
Before Clint.
Before Bullseye.
"Eli."
He heard the voice before he saw him.
Father Mateo stepped out from the side chapel, his robe falling loose around his thin frame. Silver now streaked his beard, and the warmth in his eyes had grown softer with time, like he'd seen too much and chose to be kind anyway.
"I thought that was you," the priest said, stepping closer.
Eli offered a nod, his voice quiet. "Didn't think you'd remember."
"Some names stay with you," Mateo replied, then sat beside him but not close, just enough to share the silence. "It's been… what, 4 years?"
"Close to it."
"Not since the funeral," Mateo murmured.
Eli flinched but didn't correct him. The funeral had been half a lifetime ago, and it still felt like yesterday. Like smoke still clung to his skin.
They sat in silence, watching the candles at the altar flicker. One of them sputtered out.
"I saw the news," Mateo said softly. "The mayor… brutal thing. But I don't think that's why you're here."
"No," Eli admitted, voice gravel-edged. "I keep thinking… if they were still alive, my parents, they'd be sitting here. Just like this. I'd ask them what the hell I'm supposed to do."
Mateo tilted his head. "About what?"
"About monsters who smile at cameras. Who ruin lives and sleep just fine at night." Eli's jaw tensed. "I've watched people get crushed under the weight of evil men with clean hands. They walk away clean because the system's broken."
He looked up at the crucifix. His voice dropped. "So I ask myself do they deserve mercy? Or something else?"
Mateo let the words settle before he spoke. "And what do you think?"
Eli turned toward him, eyes like steel. "Sometimes I think the only real justice left is the kind that bleeds."
The priest was quiet, thoughtful. "Justice and vengeance… they wear the same face when you've bled enough. But they serve different gods."
"What if mercy's just an excuse to do nothing?" Eli asked. "What if redemption's just a bedtime story people tell themselves to sleep easier?"
"Redemption is real," Mateo said, firm but kind. "But it's a road, not a destination. Some don't take it. Some don't make it. But I've seen killers lay down their weapons. I've seen the worst men weep at this altar."
Eli's voice cracked slightly. "What if I don't want to forgive him?"
"You don't have to," Mateo said. "Forgiveness isn't about excusing the wound. It's about choosing not to let it own you. But punishment… punishment is easy. Redemption takes strength."
Eli exhaled, long and tired. "I don't know if I have anything left."
Mateo looked at him with that same tired kindness. "Then that's where we begin."
Rain tapped faintly at the stained glass above them.
After a while, Eli stood. A little straighter than before.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Your parents would be proud," Mateo replied. "No matter what mask you wear. No matter how far you've wandered."
Eli looked one last time at the altar, then stepped back into the world.
The rain had stopped. The streets shimmered under a pale sky, wet and shining like the city had cried itself dry.
Eli walked. Nowhere in particular. Hands in his coat pockets. Hood low. Just breathing.
Redemption is harder, Mateo had said.
Was that what he wanted? Redemption?
Or was he still chasing revenge in disguise?
That question cut deeper than he expected. For all the nights spent fighting bleeding, breaking had he really changed anything?
Did saving lives mean anything if the darkness just kept returning?
Am I making a difference?
His phone buzzed.
JENNIFER: "Deluca's. One hour. You need actual food and human contact. Don't make me hunt you down."
Eli couldn't help it but let a faint, crooked smile crept across his face.
ELI: "Fine. But you're paying."
The place was small, tucked between a pawn shop and a bodega. Vinyl booths, warm lighting, and the kind of grease that never quite left the air. It was cozy, lived-in. Real.
Jennifer Walters was already waiting at a corner booth, sipping coffee, curly hair tied up in a loose bun. She looked up and grinned as he slid in across from her.
"You look like you walked out of a crime novel," she said. "Broody and mysterious."
Eli rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too."
She pushed a plate of fries toward him. "Eat. You look like you've been surviving on regret and protein bars."
He picked at a few fries, not really hungry, his mind still caught in the storm.
The TV above the counter played softly with some local news recap.
And then he heard it.
"The vigilante known as Bullseye struck again a couple nights ago, disrupting an illegal weapons shipment in the docks. While controversial, sources within the courthouse say at least seven of Bullseye's past captures have gone through court-ordered rehabilitation and reentry programs with surprising success…"
Eli froze.
The reporter continued, showing images of suspects in recovery programs, speaking at schools, holding steady jobs.
"You okay?" Jen asked.
He blinked. "That stuff on the news. About Bullseye. Is that… true?"
Jen leaned back, her expression softening. "Yeah. I've got friends in the D.A.'s office. Couple of them used to roll their eyes at the mask-and-rope crowd. But Bullseye's different. He doesn't just leave them in a pile he gives the cops something to work with. Evidence. Names. Pressure points."
She sipped her coffee. "They've had better conviction and rehab rates on his cases than anyone else's. Weirdly enough… he doesn't just stop crime. He redirects it."
Eli said nothing. Just stared at his hands.
She tilted her head. "Why do you ask?"
He shook it off. "Just didn't think someone like him could actually… change anything."
Jennifer smiled gently. "People think it's always the bright and shiny heroes who move the needle. The ones with capes and slogans. But Bullseye? He helps the ones no one sees. The single mom terrified to testify. The addict dealer who got blackmailed into his first run. The corner kids who grow up thinking they have no options."
Her voice lowered. "He's not a symbol. He's a consequence. That's what makes him different. That's what makes him better than the caped gods and spandex parades."
Eli stared at her.
"You really think he's better?"
"I think he's real," she said. "And maybe that's what we need more of."
The waitress came by with more coffee, breaking the moment. Jen turned her attention to the menu.
Eli didn't speak for a while.
He was still processing. Letting the weight of it settle into his chest.
He had made a difference. Maybe not in headlines. Maybe not in numbers. But in lives.
He thought of Clint.
And his smirk.
Just not yet.
Eli's jaw tightened.
You kill to end pain, he thought. I fight to give it a purpose.
He looked up at Jen, still flipping through her menu, and smiled faintly.
He'd stop Clint.
Not out of revenge.
But because there were people worth saving.
And now, he finally believed it.