On a rooftop three stories up, a figure in crimson stood motionless, his head tilted as if listening to something far away.

Below, in the amber glow of a flickering streetlamp, a woman fumbled with her keys outside a brownstone. She didn't notice the three shadows detaching themselves from an alleyway.

Above, Daredevil's fingers tightened on the edge of the fire escape. His head turned, tracking the scene through sound alone—footsteps, heartbeats, the rustle of fabric.

Then he stopped.

A new heartbeat. Fast, controlled. Landing on a fire escape across the street. Someone he hadn't heard approach.

His jaw tightened beneath the mask.