"Don't you know me? I'm Thea Que—" Thea caught herself, remembering her complicated family history. "I'm Thea. Oliver's sister."
She stared at the woman in front of her, taking in the leather jacket, the heavy eyeliner, the nose ring glinting under the chandelier light. When had Laurel Lance become obsessed with punk?
"Whoever you think I am, you've got the wrong person."
Black Siren shook her head, dismissing the confusion, then turned to Jack. "What do you need me to do?"
"Wait."
Jack stood and looked around for his clothes. Black Siren moved immediately, gathering them from where they'd been scattered and handing them over piece by piece. He dressed without hurrying, then walked through the house toward the Aerie's hidden entrance.
When he returned a few minutes later, the living room had changed. Thea had disappeared—the sound of running water came from somewhere upstairs. Laurie had cleaned the couch, straightening cushions and folding the throw blanket. She stood to one side with Black Siren, both waiting.
"My collection room is a bit empty." Jack handed Black Siren a folded piece of paper. "Go to this location and bring back everything inside."
She unfolded it. A street address and a detailed floor plan—ventilation routes, guard rotations, a highlighted section three levels underground.
"This is where A.R.G.U.S. stores special items," Jack said. "If you get caught, I won't waste time saving you. And don't touch anything you're not told to take. Understand?"
Black Siren studied the layout, committing it to memory. "Can I bring someone to help? I recently met someone who's very good at stealing. She'd be useful."
"As you wish." He waved a hand.
"I'll go now." She folded the paper and tucked it into her jacket, turning toward the door.
"Wait."
She paused. Jack's gaze had dropped to her nose ring, the small silver hoop catching light.
"Is that the only ring on your body?"
Black Siren smiled slowly, something wicked in it. "There's more than just this one. Want to look for them?"
"I'll enjoy the exploration after you get back."
She laughed, low and pleased, and walked out. The click of her heels faded down the hallway, then disappeared entirely.
---
Honk. Honk honk honk—
The car horns shattered the quiet barely ten minutes later.
Jack walked to the front entrance and stepped outside. Two black SUVs rolled through the manor gates and pulled into the circular drive, engines idling before cutting off in sequence. The smell of exhaust mixed with freshly cut grass.
Doors opened on the lead vehicle.
The first person out was familiar—Dinah Lance, Laurel's mother. She looked tense, jaw tight, and moved immediately to flank the woman emerging from the other side.
That woman was dark-skinned and heavyset, carrying herself with the particular authority of someone who'd spent decades making life-and-death decisions from behind a desk. Her suit was government-issue expensive. Her eyes swept the property like she was already calculating its strategic value.
On Dinah's opposite side stood a thin young woman in jeans and a faded t-shirt, hunched slightly as if trying to take up less space. Mousy brown hair. Nervous hands.
The second SUV's doors opened. Armed soldiers climbed out first, tactical gear and automatic weapons, fanning into a loose perimeter. Then came Bette Sans Souci.
The glowing collar around her neck pulsed with soft light. She met Jack's eyes immediately, and her expression crumbled into apology.
"Amanda Waller." The heavyset woman smiled, showing white teeth. "I've wanted to meet you for a long time. I didn't—"
Crack.
Jack's palm connected with her face before she finished Crack.the sentence.
The slap echoed across the courtyard. Every gun came up, black barrels leveling at Jack's chest from six different angles.
"What are you doing?!" Dinah's voice cracked with shock.
Amanda Waller stood frozen, one hand rising slowly to her cheek. The smile hadn't quite left her face—her brain hadn't caught up to what her body already knew.
She'd read every A.R.G.U.S. file on Jack Kadere. She knew he was unpredictable, dangerous, operating on a logic that didn't match normal human behavior. But she'd assumed—everyone assumed—that hostages created leverage. That the presence of armed men created pause. That civilized conversation preceded violence.
She'd assumed wrong.
The smile died. Her eyes went cold.
"You'd better give me an explanation."
"Growing this ugly and still coming out to scare people." Jack's voice was light, almost pleasant. "You deserved that."
He tilted his head, studying her reddening cheek.
"I've wanted to hit you for a long time, actually. How did it feel?"
"You—"
Crack.
The second slap spun her head sideways. She staggered, balance failing, and went down hard on the gravel drive. Small stones bit into her palms.
"Moone!" The name tore out of her throat, raw with fury. She twisted to look at the thin woman still standing by the SUV. "Do it! Now!"
June Moone flinched at her name. She took a breath, lips parting—
Power exploded outward from Jack like a physical force.
It wasn't visible. It didn't need to be. The hatred in it was older than human civilization, a rage that wanted to tear reality apart at the seams and watch the pieces burn. It crashed over the courtyard in waves.
The soldiers crumpled first. Knees hit gravel. Weapons clattered from shaking hands. One of them made a sound—not quite a whimper, not quite a prayer.
June Moone's legs gave out. She collapsed against the SUV, sliding down until she sat on the ground, arms wrapped around herself.
Jack walked toward her, each step deliberate. He stopped close enough that she had to crane her neck to see his face.
"Transform," he said quietly, "and I'll kill you."
Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.
"You know I can."
I know, June thought, trembling. God, I know.
"Dammit!"
Amanda Waller scrambled on the gravel, one hand diving into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a small device—black plastic, single red button, a dead man's switch.
"If I press this, Bette Sans Souci dies!" She held the remote up, fingers white-knuckled around it. "One press and her head comes off! Back away from Moone, or I swear to God—"
"Then press it."
Jack didn't look at her. He reached down, grabbed the collar of her suit jacket, and hauled her up to her knees.
Crack.
"You—you won't—I'll do it!" Her voice had gone shrill. "I'm not bluffing! If I press this button—"
Crack.
"She's dead! Do you understand? Dead! I'll—"
Crack.
"I will press it! I will—"
Crack.
"—fucking press—"
Crack.
She stopped talking. Blood ran from her split lip. Her left eye was already swelling shut. Two teeth lay on the gravel beside her knee, small and white against the gray stones.
Her thumb hadn't moved.
Dinah Lance pushed herself up from where she'd fallen. "Jack Kadere, stop right now!"
Jack's head turned.
One look. That was all it took.
The courage she'd scraped together evaporated like water on hot metal. Her legs folded and she went down again, knees hitting the ground hard enough to bruise.
What is he? The thought spiraled through her mind, distant and panicked. What the hell is he?
Jack turned back to Amanda Waller. He reached for the remote.
She jerked it away, hiding it behind her back like a child protecting a toy. "What do you want?!"
"If you don't have the nerve to press it, don't wave it around." He let go of her jacket, letting her slump. Then he pointed at June Moone, still crumpled against the SUV. "You. Get up."
June's eyes went wide. "M-me?"
"Slap her."
"I—what?"
"Don't you dare." Amanda's voice was thick, distorted by her swollen face. She glared at June with her one good eye. "Moone, don't you dare—"
Jack appeared beside June in a blur of motion. He crouched down, bringing his mouth close to her ear.
"Doesn't feel good, does it?" His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Being threatened. Being used. She's had that bomb in Enchantress for years. She's made you do things you didn't want to do. Controlled you. Owned you."
June's hands curled into fists against the gravel.
"This is your chance. Fair and square, right in front of witnesses." Jack's smile was audible. "And even if she's angry about it afterward—she won't do anything to you. Because you're too valuable. You know it. She knows it."
He's right, June thought. She can't afford to lose Enchantress. She never could.
She stood slowly, legs unsteady. She walked toward Amanda Waller, who was still on her knees, blood dripping from her chin onto her expensive suit.
"I'm sorry." June's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I don't have a choice either."
She raised her hand and brought it down across Amanda Waller's face.
---