One Warning, No Mercy
Wayne Cemetery – One Week Later
Talia stood in the rain, alone, beneath the withered branches of an ancient tree. She wasn’t surprised when she heard the footsteps.
Damian stood a few feet behind her, soaked through, expression unreadable.
“You know why I’m here,” he said.
She didn’t turn around. “To gloat?”
“No.” He stepped closer. “To make you understand.”
Finally, she faced him. Her eyes were empty, but not unfeeling.
“He remembers,” he said.
Talia’s lips parted slightly.
“All of it,” Damian continued. “The duels. The screams. The way you dipped him to silence his grief. He remembers every second.”
Her voice was small. “Does he hate me?”
“No.” Damian’s jaw clenched. “And that makes it worse.”
Talia looked away.
“I should kill you,” Damian whispered. “For what you did to him.”
“But you won’t.”
“No.” He stepped even closer, his voice like a blade. “Because he still calls you Mother.”
Talia swallowed.
“So here’s what you need to understand,” Damian said. “You don’t get to come near him again. You don’t get to send shadows, or whispers, or messages hidden in ink. You don’t get to haunt his life just because you gave him one.”
She said nothing.
“If you try,” he said coldly, “I will end you. And I’ll do it in a way that no Lazarus Pit can undo.”
The silence stretched between them.
Finally, Talia looked up at him with tears unshed.
“…He loved me.”
“He still does,” Damian said. “But this time, he loves himself more. And I’m not letting you take that from him again.”
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the rain.
Talia stood alone, the grave beneath her feet unmarked — the grave where she once buried her son.
And now, he lived again.
But not with her.