tw. main character death, suicide, overdose, 

Dick had found out from the hospital.

Maeve hadn't listed family.

Just one name under emergency contact: Richard Grayson.

He got the call too late.

She was already gone.

Overdose. Painkillers. Alone in her apartment. Unconscious for too long before anyone found her.

They tried.

But she didn't wake up.

The first thing he did was sit down.

Right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

Didn't move. Didn't speak.

Just stared at the phone like it might start ringing again. Like someone would say it was a mistake.

But no one did.

At the Morgue,

They let him see her.

Pale. Still. Hair tangled, stained with blood. Melina's jacket zipped halfway.

She looked like a kid again.

Like the girl he used to read to when she couldn't sleep. The one who asked him if stars ever get tired of shining.

He didn't cry right away.

He just reached out, touched her hand — cold and stiff — and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Like it could matter now.

Like it could undo anything.

The Funeral

Small. Quiet.

No photos. No flowers.

Just a coffin, a plot beside Melina's, and an emptiness no words could reach.

He was the only one who spoke.

"She deserved better."

That was all he could manage.

Not strong. Not brave. Not "she touched so many lives."

Just:

"She deserved better than this."

And everyone there knew it was true.

Afterwards, 

He stayed at the grave until it was dark.

Kneeling in the mud. Fingernails caked in dirt where he'd pressed his hands into the earth like it could answer him.

"She waited for you," he said into the night. "Every day. She wore your scarf like a goddamn flag. She kept your name like a secret. She loved you more than any of us knew how to."

He didn't say Jason's name.

Couldn't.

Because Jason was dead.

And Maeve was dead.

And he was still here.

Still breathing.

Still failing.

And deep down, he knew one thing,

That if Jason were alive, and he found out Maeve had died like that — small, scared, alone...

He'd burn the city to the ground.