As the smoke thinned, movement appeared.
A man in black stepped through it—head to toe in dark clothing, face hidden. He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. Without a word, he joined the girls, covering angles. The three of them fell into the fight together—sharp, instinctive.
Dane's few remaining associates spotted an opening and bolted.
"Not happening," Daisy muttered.
She took off after them, cutting to intercept. Gunfire erupted—wild shots, sharp turns, chaos splintering the air. Out of nowhere, another man appeared, dressed entirely in blue, firing back and backing Daisy up. Confusion flickered through her mind, but there was no time to question it. They moved as if rehearsed.
Daisy dropped two of them. The man in blue tackled another, disarming him with brutal efficiency. Panic took over—the survivors ran for their lives.
As they scattered, Daisy dropped low, her gun slipping from her grip for just a second. In that heartbeat, she reached for her dagger and hurled it.
It struck one man clean in the arm.
He cursed, stumbled, then vanished into a side passage, bleeding and scrambling to escape.
"Boys, what are you doing?" City C Don screamed. "Attack them harder! Use the weapons we just got—chop their heads off!"
"Who are they, Dane?" City C Don snapped angrily. "Are they someone you hired to kill us?"
"No—they aren't my men," Dane said urgently. "We have to get out. Now. Before the police get here."
"Daisy, let's take down Dane," the man in blue said, his voice steady.
Her pulse jumped.
Why does his voice sound familiar? And how does he know my name—when my face is covered, just like his?
There was no time to question it.
"Okay," she said, falling into step beside him.
Ahead of them, Dane realized he was doomed.
"Move!" he barked, shoving past his men as he broke into a run.
Six of his men spread out, firing wildly to slow them down.
Daisy and the man in blue surged forward.
Gunfire cracked through the facility. Daisy slid behind a concrete pillar, leaned out, and fired—one man dropped. The man in blue moved fast and precise, taking down another with two clean shots to the chest.
They advanced together, covering each other without a word.
Two of Dane's men tried to flank them.
"Left," Daisy warned.
The man in blue pivoted instantly, firing. One went down. The other bolted—straight into Daisy's path. She tackled him hard, disarmed him, and shoved him aside without breaking stride.
Dane was already near the exit.
"He's not getting away," Daisy muttered.
They sprinted after him into a long, open corridor. Dane fired blindly over his shoulder. Daisy ducked, rolled, and came up running again.
The man in blue took a risk—sliding across the floor, firing low.
A bullet tore into Dane's leg.
He screamed and collapsed, skidding across the concrete.
Daisy was on him in seconds.
Dane reached for his gun.
She kicked it away and drove her knee into his injured leg. He howled, collapsing flat.
The man in blue closed in, weapon trained on Dane's head.
"Don't," he warned calmly.
Daisy twisted Dane's arm behind his back, forcing him down. He fought—desperate, sloppy—but pain and blood loss slowed him.
She locked his wrists together and shoved him face-first into the floor.
Breathing hard, Daisy confirmed "Target secured."
Dane spat blood and laughed weakly. "You think this is over?"
Daisy pressed her boot into his spine.
"No," she said coldly. "Now it begins—behind bars."
Her gaze returned to the man in blue.
But the question remained—loud, unsettling, and impossible to ignore.