The gate to Twilight hissed open.
Nathan stepped in, pulling his hood up. The night air curled around him like an old coat. Somewhere high above, the moon carved silver lines across the cobbled streets.
"Ah, Detective Black!" called a hunched baker closing up his stall. "Back from chasing ghosts?"
Nathan tipped an imaginary hat. "Caught two. Still waiting for the third to bite."
The baker chuckled. "You're either the bravest bastard or the dumbest. Or both."
"Depends on the day," Nathan said, walking on.
A group of kids darted past, their laughter echoing off the quiet alleys. A paper lantern bobbed in a girl's hand, painted with stars.
He gave a soft smile.
Twilight City always had that odd calm… the kind that made even nightmares pause at the threshold. Where the moon never slept, and shadows wore less menace than Daylight politics in Aerenthal's courts.
He passed the candle vendor who sold more incense than light. She squinted at him.
"You look like you lost a fight."
Nathan stopped. "Funny. I thought I won."
She sniffed. "Well, you smell like you lost. Go home, boy."
He waved her off and crossed the crooked path to the corner house with the purple-shuttered windows. The ivy had crept higher on the stone walls. Her garden was blooming again. Same stubborn herbs she used to rub on every scrape and fever.
He hesitated a second.
Then knocked.
The door opened, and her eyes were already tired.
"Took you long enough," she muttered, stepping aside.
"I walked through a cult and three districts. Thought I deserved the scenic route."
Her lips twitched into something close to a smile. "You always did have a twisted idea of scenic."
His mother hadn't changed much. Gray streaks now traced through her once-black curls. A flour-smudged apron hung from her waist, and the scent of bread and herbs clung to her like a memory.
She stared at him for a second longer before pulling him into a hug.
Nathan exhaled, closing his eyes. For a moment, the aches, the ruins, the burnt bodies—all of it fell away. Here, in the soft silence of her arms, he wasn't a detective or a weapon. Just a son. Just her boy.
"You're thinner," she said, pulling back to inspect his face. "And bleeding."
"I've had worse," he said with a smirk. "You should've seen the other guys."
She didn't laugh.
"Come inside."
He did. The house smelled of tea leaves, old parchment, dust, and memories. The walls hadn't changed. Neither had the uneven table or the three-legged stool he always swore he'd fix.
She made tea. Dabbed his shoulder with herbal paste. Wrapped the bandage with the same firm hands that used to spank sense into him.
"You're being called back, aren't you?" she asked, not looking at him.
He nodded. "General Emerald wants a 'briefing.'"
Her lips pressed into a line. "They only call you when it's something ugly."
Nathan didn't reply. She poured his tea and slid the cup across the table. Her hands were steady, but her eyes were distant.
"They'll eat you alive, Nathan. They always do."
"I'm used to it."
"That's not something to be proud of."
A pause. Then she gave a quiet huff through her nose, almost a laugh. "You were always like this. Do you remember what you told me when you ran off to your first assignment?"
Nathan gave a half-smile. "I said, 'If they're monsters, I'll just be scarier.'"
"And you were twelve," she said, rolling her eyes. "You were still afraid of the dark."
"Still am," he murmured. "But back then I thought being brave meant pretending not to be."
Her gaze softened. "And now?"
He met her eyes. "Now I know being brave means coming back… even if you're broken."
Her hand found his. "Then don't stay gone so long, Nathan."
He didn't answer. Just held her hand in silence. The cup of tea grew cold between them.
"I just wanted to see you before I went."
"I know."
Another silence. Then..
"Will you come back?"
He stared into the cup, watching the moonlight curl in the steam.
"I'll try."
Her grip tightened. "Don't try. Just do."
Nathan rose from the table.
His mother walked him to the door in silence.
"Try not to get stabbed this time," she muttered.
"No promises," he said, adjusting his coat. "You know how persuasive cultists get."
She smacked his arm… not hard. "Smart mouth. Same as your father's."
"Miss him?"
"Only when you're around," she said, then paused. "Come back in one piece."
"I'll come back," he said. "The piece part's optional."
Outside, the night air hugged his shoulders again. Familiar. Soft.
He nodded to the old watchman by the lane.
"Still awake, Vance?"
The old man coughed. "Still patrolling the dead city, Black?"
"They call it home, same as me."
"Shame," the man muttered. "You always looked like someone meant for light."
Nathan just smiled and moved on.
As he neared the gates, a kid on a rooftop shouted down, "Hey, Detective! Find any ghouls?"
"Only the ones with debts," Nathan called back.
The kid whooped. "Tell them the moon charges interest!"
Nathan laughed. "That's what I keep saying!"
The gate came into view. Stone arch. Iron hinges groaning.
A wall between silence and sound.
Raphael leaned against it, arms folded.
"You're late."
"I stopped for nostalgia," Nathan said.
"You get sentimental, I get ulcers," Raphael muttered. "Let's move."
Nathan looked over his shoulder.
Twilight shimmered with blue lanterns, hushed rooftops, and a cat leaping from one awning to another.
He turned back. Sunlight bled through the gate like it didn't belong.
"You'd think they'd turn it down a little," Nathan squinted.
Raphael smirked. "Welcome back to Daylight."
"I already hate it," Nathan said, stepping through.
Light poured over him like judgment.
Behind him, the gate creaked closed.
Twilight vanished with a sigh.