CHAPTER 1 — INTO THE ALLEY

The city still smelled faintly of rain, that sharp mineral scent rising from cracked sidewalks and soaked brick. Streetlights blinked in and out, their buzz echoing between narrow walls as Sarah moved down Pine Street with steady, measured steps. Her dark jacket clung to her shoulders, not for warmth—she hardly felt the chill—but because old instincts always demanded readiness. Three years out of the Navy SEALs hadn’t dulled the reflexes that had been carved into her bones through endless drills, missions, and near misses.

She walked like someone who knew danger could appear anywhere. And tonight, danger chose to.

Her phone vibrated. A message from Marcus lit up the screen: Coffee this weekend? My treat. Don’t disappear again.

She smiled faintly and began typing a reply.

That was when she heard it—the distant but unmistakable rhythm of footsteps matching her pace. Not one pair. Multiple. Heavy. Intentional.

Sarah didn’t turn her head. Instead, she looked into the reflection of a closed flower shop’s window. Four men. Hooded. Spaced too evenly. Keeping their distance with the precision of people who had done this before.

Her thumb paused on the screen. A slow exhale escaped her lips.

Not panic. Focus.

Her senses sharpened. The world contracted into angles, shadows, exits.

The street ahead was too open. Too exposed. To her right, Miller’s Alley stretched into a narrow throat of darkness—most would call it a dead end. To her, it was containment. Control. Predictable terrain.

She turned.

The alley swallowed her quickly—rusted fire escape ladders, dented dumpsters, flickering lights that barely reached halfway down the brick corridor. She moved to the far wall, placing her back where nothing could surprise her from behind. Her phone slid into her pocket. Shoulders relaxed. Breath even.

Behind her, the footsteps stopped.

Low whispers. A short argument. The kind of hushed tones men used when deciding if a victim was worth the trouble.

Two of them stepped inside first. Tall silhouettes—six feet at least. Their confidence rolled ahead of them like heat waves.

Tony and Mitch—though she wouldn’t learn their names until later—walked like men who’d spent too many nights intimidating the vulnerable.

“Nowhere to run, sweetheart,” Tony called out, knife glinting under the dim light. “Hand over your purse and phone, and nobody gets hurt.”

Sarah said nothing, her eyes scanning their stances, the tension in their shoulders, the placement of their feet. Mitch’s right hand stayed in his jacket. The shape was obvious: pistol. Badly held. Sloppy. Dangerous.

But not for her.

“You hear me?” Tony barked, stepping closer. “I said give us what we want!”

Sarah finally lifted her chin, voice calm as a still ocean.
“Gentlemen… you’ve made a serious mistake tonight.”

That single sentence made Tony hesitate. Predators loved fear. They fed on it. But she wasn’t afraid—and that unnerved them.

“Oh, she’s got attitude,” Mitch laughed, glancing back toward the alley entrance. “We’re doing you a favor, lady. Just hand it all over.”

“You turn around and leave,” Sarah said softly, “and this ends well for you.”

Tony clicked his tongue and took another step. “You know what I think? I think you’ve watched too many action movies.”

Sarah shifted her weight barely an inch—something only another fighter would notice. Mitch didn’t.

Tony lunged.

The world compressed into a heartbeat.

Sarah moved.

Her arm rose in a sharp arc, knocking Tony’s knife hand to the side. Her elbow drove into his solar plexus. A sharp thud filled the alley as Tony’s breath left him in a strangled gasp.

“—the hell?!” Mitch shouted, pulling his pistol free.

Sarah stepped behind Tony’s collapsing body, using him as cover. Mitch froze—his friend was in his line of fire.

“Drop it,” Sarah warned.

Mitch didn’t. He raised it anyway.

Sarah shoved Tony forward and launched herself sideways as the gunshot cracked through the alley. A spark erupted from the brick wall behind her. The gunshot echoed like a thunderclap.

Tony wheezed on the ground, trying to suck in air. “Shoot her! Shoot her, Mitch!”

“Shut up, I’m trying!” Mitch yelled, panic edging into his voice.

Sarah’s hand closed around the lid of a metal trash can and yanked it free. She hurled it with perfect precision. It smashed into Mitch’s wrist. The pistol clattered to the ground, skidding across loose gravel.

Mitch screamed and grabbed his numbing hand. “You bitch!”

Sarah was already in motion. She swept Mitch’s legs with a sharp kick, sending him crashing onto his back. Before he could roll away, her knee pinned his chest. Her forearm pressed against his throat, applying just enough pressure to warn—not kill.

“I told you to walk away,” she said.

Mitch choked, face reddening. “You… you’re crazy…”

“Wrong,” Sarah said. “I’m trained.”

Tony groaned, pushing himself up to his elbows. His knife lay a few feet away. He looked between the weapon and Sarah, weighing his odds.

“Don’t,” she warned without looking at him. “Touch the knife, and I promise this will get worse.”

Tony hesitated—but pride overcame survival. His hand darted out.

Sarah sprang to her feet, pivoting just as Tony grabbed the blade. He swung wildly. She sidestepped, gripping his wrist, twisting sharply until the metal clattered onto the concrete. Tony screamed as she forced his arm behind his back and slammed him to his knees.

“You should’ve listened,” she said through clenched teeth.

Mitch scrambled toward his fallen gun.

“No,” she snapped.

She kicked it across the alley, sending it spinning under a dumpster.

Mitch cursed loudly. “Why… why can you fight like this? Who the hell are you?!”

Sarah met his terrified eyes.

“Someone you shouldn’t have followed.”

Tony groaned, unable to break her hold. The anger drained out of him, replaced by something else—real fear.

“Please… don’t kill us,” he gasped.

“If I wanted you dead,” she said, releasing his arm, “you’d already be on the ground not breathing.”

Both men froze.

The final pair of footsteps—who had waited at the alley entrance—finally appeared at the far end. She looked up at them. They hesitated when they saw Tony and Mitch incapacitated.

Sarah straightened slowly, keeping her stance ready.
“Are you two smart enough to walk away?”

They looked at each other. Nerves. Doubt. Regret.

Then—thankfully—they ran.

Tony and Mitch remained where they were, stunned and shaking.

Sarah exhaled slowly. The adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the steady thrum of alertness.

She pulled out her phone.

A soft groan escaped Tony. “You calling the cops?”

“No,” Sarah said, stepping back. “I’m calling an ambulance. You both need it.”

Mitch blinked, confused. “Why… why help us?”

“Because,” she said quietly, “you’re still human. And because some mistakes don’t have to end in death.”

She dialed the number.

The night air settled. The alley grew quiet. And the danger—at least for now—was over.

CHAPTER 2 — AFTERSHOCKS

The sirens arrived ten minutes later, slicing through the quiet night like silver blades. Red and blue lights spread across Miller’s Alley, bathing the damp brick walls in violent color. Sarah stood off to the side, hands loose at her sides, posture relaxed but alert. The paramedics were already tending to Tony—who winced at every touch—and Mitch, who refused to release his bruised wrist until a medic pried his fingers apart.

The police officers, however, focused solely on her.

“You’re the one who called this in?” Officer Ramirez asked, pen poised over a small notepad. His partner, a younger officer named Daniels, hovered nearby, gaze flicking between Sarah and the two injured men as though trying to piece together a puzzle.

“Yes,” Sarah replied calmly. “They attempted to rob me. One of them pulled a gun. I disarmed them.”

Ramirez’s brow arched. “So… you took down four armed men by yourself?”

“No.” Sarah nodded toward the alley entrance. “Two of them ran before things escalated.”

Daniels let out a low whistle. “Still. That’s… impressive.”

Ramirez shot his partner a warning look before returning his attention to Sarah. “Ma’am, I need to understand exactly what happened. Step by step.”

Sarah nodded. “I’m happy to walk you through it.”

Before she could continue, Tony pushed upright on the stretcher, grimacing. “She attacked us! She—she ambushed us like some kind of psycho!” His voice cracked from both pain and humiliation.

Sarah didn’t react. She didn’t need to.

Ramirez turned to Tony with an unimpressed stare. “You were found with a knife two feet from your hand and a gun under the dumpster your friend was reaching for.”

Tony said nothing.

Ramirez turned back to Sarah. “Please continue.”

Sarah recounted the events clearly, concisely, without embellishment. No bravado. No dramatics. Just the truth. The officers scribbled every word. When she finished, Ramirez nodded slowly.

“Do you have any combat training?” he asked.

Sarah considered how much to reveal. “Some.”

“‘Some’ doesn’t drop two grown men in under thirty seconds,” Daniels murmured.

Ramirez shot him another warning look. “Ma’am, we need specifics.”

Sarah sighed softly. “Navy SEALs. Six years.”

Both officers widened their eyes.

Daniels nearly dropped his notepad. “No wonder…”

Ramirez cleared his throat, regaining professionalism. “Alright. That explains… a lot.”

Tony groaned loudly. “This is bullshit. You think she’s a hero or something? Look at my ribs!”

Daniels muttered, “Yeah, she probably saved your life, genius.”

The paramedic tightened Tony’s bandages in response, earning another pained yelp.

Ramirez closed his notebook. “Ms…?”

“Sarah Carter.”

“Ms. Carter, based on what we’ve gathered so far, you acted in self-defense. You’re free to go, but we may contact you for follow-up questions.”

“Of course,” she replied.

As the officers walked away to speak with the medics, Mitch turned his head toward her. His eyes were clearer now—not with defiance, but confusion.

“Why?” he rasped.

Sarah paused. “Why what?”

“Why didn’t you hurt us worse? You could’ve. You—” He swallowed hard. “You could’ve killed us.”

Sarah met his gaze evenly. “Because I left the battlefield when I left the military. I’m not looking to bring it into my civilian life.”

Mitch stared at her, and for a brief second, the hardness in his eyes softened—not gratitude, but understanding.

The paramedics loaded him into the ambulance. Tony followed, cursing under his breath.

When the last police car pulled away, the alley finally fell silent again. The adrenaline had worn off completely now, leaving behind a heaviness that settled in her muscles. She checked her watch—past eleven.

Coffee with Marcus this weekend, she reminded herself.
A normal life. Simple moments. The reason she tried so hard not to slip back into old habits.

She exhaled and stepped out onto Pine Street.

The walk home was quiet—almost too quiet. Every shadow seemed thicker. Every echo stretched longer behind her. Not fear. Just awareness. The event replayed in her head in fragments—not the fight itself, but the look on Mitch’s face when she chose mercy over precision.

Am I changing?
Or was she simply tired of the endless cycle of force?

By the time she reached her apartment building—a small, brick structure with a faded green awning—the tension had faded enough for her shoulders to loosen. She unlocked the door, stepped inside, and clicked on the light.

The apartment was clean, sparse, practical. A reflection of a life in transition. No clutter. Few decorations. Only things she needed.

She placed her keys on the counter, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned against the kitchen island.

Her phone buzzed.

Marcus again.

Everything okay? You didn’t answer.

She typed back:

Long night. I’ll explain later. And yes—coffee. Don’t back out.

His reply was instant.

Never. See you Saturday.

She smiled faintly.

She didn’t get more than a few seconds of stillness before someone knocked on her door.

Her grip tightened on the glass. Three knocks. Firm. Precise.

Police?
Marcus?
Wrong apartment?

Or—

The remaining two men?

She set the glass down silently and approached the door, barefoot, weight distributed evenly. Her hand hovered near the concealed blade she kept under the entryway cabinet—not to use, but to have.

“Who is it?” she called out, voice steady.

“It’s Ramirez,” came the familiar voice. “Sorry to drop in unannounced.”

Sarah eased slightly. She opened the door.

Officer Ramirez stood there, alone, expression stiff. He glanced up and down the hallway before stepping inside when she motioned for him to enter.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Ramirez exhaled slowly. “Those men you encountered tonight—they’re part of a larger group we’ve been monitoring. Street-level robbery, yes, but also… connections to organized crime. Drugs. Weapons. Extortion.”

Sarah frowned. “And they targeted me randomly?”

Ramirez hesitated. “That’s the part that worries me.”

A cold flicker traced her spine. “Explain.”

“When we detained Tony at the hospital, he said something strange. Something he probably shouldn’t have known.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened. “What did he say?”

Ramirez met her eyes.
“He knew you were military. Knew you weren’t just any veteran. And he said—his words, not mine—‘She’s the one they’re looking for.’”

Silence filled the room. Heavy. Electric.

Sarah felt her pulse shift—not faster, but deeper.

The battlefield she’d been trying to leave behind…
had just found her again.

CHAPTER 3 — THE SHADOW THEY SENT

For a long moment, Sarah didn’t speak. The tiny apartment seemed to shrink around her, walls pulling inward as Officer Ramirez’s words hung in the air like thick smoke.

She’s the one they’re looking for.

She felt her pulse slow—not out of calm, but out of calculation. Her old instincts were rattling awake, whispering warnings she hadn’t heard in years.

She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “Who exactly is ‘they’?”

Ramirez shook his head. “We don’t know. That’s what makes this… complicated.”

“That’s not good enough.” Her tone sharpened, a subtle blade. “If someone is coming after me, I need more than guesses.”

Ramirez ran a hand through his dark hair, the movement betraying tension he hadn’t shown earlier. “These men—the ones who attacked you—aren’t just thugs. They’ve been involved in some high-level dealings. Guns smuggled through the docks. Unregistered shipments. Rumors of ex-military working with them.”

Sarah stilled. “Ex-military?”

“Yeah. Not just one guy either. A small network. And if Tony knew you were Navy SEAL… someone told him.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched. “Nobody outside my team knew the details of what I did. Even my family barely knows.”

“That’s what makes this strange.” Ramirez lowered his voice. “I think they targeted you deliberately. Maybe the two men who ran were meant to watch you fight. To confirm something.”

“To evaluate me,” Sarah said quietly.

Ramirez nodded grimly. “That’s my concern.”

Thunder rolled faintly in the distance. Another storm brewing.

Sarah paced toward the living room window, pulling the curtain aside with two fingers. The street below was empty except for a flickering lamppost and a lone parked motorcycle.

She scanned the shadows. Patterns. Angles. Movement.

Nothing.

Still, the air felt wrong.

She turned back to Ramirez. “You shouldn’t be here alone. If someone is watching me—”

Ramirez lifted a hand. “I’m not here in any official capacity. Off the record. I just… thought you deserved a warning.”

A warning meant more to her than any badge. “Thank you.”

He gave a tight nod, then moved toward the door. But before he could open it, a crash echoed from outside—metal smacking against pavement.

Both of them froze.

Ramirez reached for his holster. Sarah moved silently beside him, just as the doorknob twitched.

Then—

BAM.

The door slammed inward, smashing into the wall as three masked men surged inside like a wave of violence and steel.

“Down!” Ramirez barked, drawing his gun.

Sarah was already moving.

The first intruder swung a tactical baton toward her head. She ducked, catching the arc of his arm with her forearm before driving her knee into his ribs. He staggered, grip loosening, and she snatched the baton midair.

The second man lunged at Ramirez, slamming him into the wall. Ramirez fired—but the shot went wild, slicing into the ceiling as the attacker pinned his arm.

The third man aimed straight for Sarah, a knife glinting in his hand.

She spun, blocking his strike with the baton. Steel scraped metal. Sparks danced. The man was skilled—far more disciplined than Tony or Mitch.

This one is trained.

He pivoted, switching grip. She recognized the stance instantly.

Military. Special forces?

He thrust again. She sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past her. She hooked his ankle, sending him crashing onto her coffee table. Wood shattered beneath him.

But he recovered fast—too fast—and rolled to his feet.

Ramirez struggled with the second attacker. Their bodies slammed into the kitchen island, knocking over Sarah’s water glass. The attacker struck Ramirez across the jaw, forcing his gun from his hand.

Sarah moved to help—but the trained man blocked her path.

“You’re coming with us,” he growled through his mask. “Alive.”

Sarah tightened her grip on the baton. “Not tonight.”

He charged.

Their clash was a blur: fists, elbows, knees, sharp breaths, near-silent grunts of effort. She jammed the baton under his chin, but he twisted, slamming her back against the wall. Pain shot through her shoulder.

He pressed harder. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“Story of my life,” she hissed.

She snapped her head forward—headbutting him square between the eyes.

He stumbled backward, cursing. She followed up with a rapid strike to his wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. A second strike to the temple sent him reeling.

This time he hit the floor and stayed there.

Ramirez managed to slam his attacker into a cabinet. Sarah swept in from behind, hooking the man’s knee. He toppled, and Ramirez delivered a decisive punch that knocked him out cold.

The third intruder—the first one she’d knee-struck—staggered to his feet, dazed. Sarah stepped forward, baton raised.

He froze.

Then bolted through the open door, disappearing down the stairwell.

Sarah exhaled, lowering the baton. The apartment was a wreck—shards of wood, broken glass, overturned chairs.

Ramirez wiped blood from his lip. “Okay,” he breathed shakily. “So… that wasn’t random.”

“No.” Sarah looked at the unconscious men on her floor. “This was a retrieval team.”

Ramirez crouched and pulled a wallet from one attacker’s pocket. Inside—no ID. But a patch: black, stitched with a symbol she hadn’t seen in years.

A wolf’s head.
Red eyes.

Her stomach dropped.

“That’s… not good,” she murmured.

“You recognize it?” Ramirez asked.

She hesitated. “I thought the group disbanded. They weren’t supposed to operate stateside.”

“What group?”

Sarah’s eyes hardened.

“BLACK ARROW.”

Ramirez’s face blanched. “The PMC? The one rumored to recruit ex-SEALs for off-the-books ops overseas?”

“They don’t recruit,” Sarah corrected. “They hunt. They choose. And once they choose someone…”

She trailed off.

He swallowed. “Why you?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Memories flashed—classified missions, dangerous outcomes, one op that had gone horribly, catastrophically wrong.

The mission she never spoke about.

“I know something,” she finally said. “Something they want buried.”

Ramirez nodded slowly. “So they’re trying to take you before you can talk.”

“Or eliminate me,” she said quietly. “Depends on the order.”

“We need backup,” Ramirez said, reaching for his radio.

Sarah grabbed his wrist. “No. Not yet.”

“Sarah—”

“If Black Arrow hears police chatter, they’ll bring in a second team. Heavily armed. They operate like a phantom unit—fast, clean, no witnesses. Calling the police will only escalate things.”

Ramirez stared at her. “Then what do we do?”

Sarah moved to the window again. The street was still quiet.

She didn’t blink as she said:

“We go to them. Before they come back with more.”

Ramirez’s eyes widened. “You’re planning to hunt them?”

Sarah’s voice was calm. Controlled. A storm preparing to break.

“No,” she said.
“They’re hunting me.”

A beat.

“I’m ending it.”

CHAPTER 4 — STRIKE BACK

Sarah moved like a shadow down the fire escape, the night air biting at her face. Ramirez followed, tense but trusting her lead. The city below was silent, streets empty, every alleyway a potential ambush—but she saw patterns, saw weaknesses the casual eye missed. Every step was deliberate, every breath measured.

“Where exactly are we going?” Ramirez asked quietly, glancing down at the alley below.

“An abandoned warehouse on 5th and Reed,” Sarah replied. “This is where Black Arrow has set up their retrieval hub. Their men come and go from here. I’ve observed it before—years ago, but the patterns are still the same.”

Ramirez’s eyes widened. “You’re going in alone?”

Sarah shook her head. “Not alone. You’re with me—but you follow my lead. Stay sharp, and no hero moves.”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

The warehouse loomed ahead, dark, angular, silent. The city lights barely penetrated the chain-link fences surrounding it. Inside, shadows moved—figures pacing, weapons cleaning, whispers exchanged. Black Arrow operatives, unaware their prey had arrived early.

Sarah crouched behind a rusted dumpster, surveying. Four men patrolling the perimeter. Another two at the entrance. She counted, calculated, synchronized breathing with Ramirez.

“Here’s what we do,” she whispered. “I create the distraction, Ramirez—when I give the signal, you move in. Neutralize, contain, whatever it takes. We take no unnecessary risks. Got it?”

Ramirez swallowed. “Got it.”

She nodded once and slid forward, each movement precise. Her hand found a pipe lying on the ground. She gripped it, feeling the weight, imagining every bone she could break with one strike.

The first guard neared the dumpster. Sarah swung silently. Pipe connected with the side of his knee. A muffled grunt. He crumpled. She dragged him into shadow before the others noticed.

Another guard approached. She crouched low, rolled forward, and swept his feet out from under him. He landed hard, the sound of his skull brushing concrete echoing faintly. Ramirez watched, wide-eyed, but silent.

The signal was ready.

Inside, the men she had seen earlier—Black Arrow operatives, trained, methodical—were distracted by the commotion outside. One by one, Sarah neutralized the perimeter silently, a ghost in the shadows. Her movements were surgical, lethal if necessary, but always controlled.

Then she entered the warehouse.

The interior was cavernous. Crates stacked haphazardly, weapons lining walls, monitors flickering with surveillance feeds of her city, her apartment, her routines. She spotted a figure in the center: a man tall, broad-shouldered, masked—but his posture, the way he shifted, told her enough. Leader. Alpha.

“You’ve come far,” he said calmly, voice cold, confident. “I knew you’d make it this far.”

Sarah didn’t reply. She kept moving, scanning. Ramirez stayed just behind, gun ready.

“Your SEAL skills… impressive,” the man continued, stepping into a faint pool of light. His mask off now, revealing a scar that ran from temple to jawline. “But your history with Black Arrow makes you a threat. One we cannot afford to keep alive.”

“You want me dead because I know your secrets,” Sarah said evenly, tightening her grip on the pipe. “You’re hiding something.”

The man’s smile was sharp, predatory. “I am Black Arrow. Everything you’ve done… every op, every mission… I’ve seen it. And I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

He’s been watching me? Sarah’s pulse quickened—not from fear, but from anticipation. Every move, every mission, he’s been calculating.

“You underestimated me,” she said softly. “And now, that’s your mistake.”

The first strike came from the leader, fast, precise—a lunge intended to test her reaction. Sarah deflected, spinning, using her momentum to deliver a brutal elbow to his ribs. He staggered, cursed under his breath. Ramirez engaged two men trying to flank Sarah from the side. Gunfire and punches rang out, echoes bouncing across metal walls.

The fight was chaotic, fast, violent—but Sarah’s control was absolute. Every move she made was calculated, anticipating attacks she couldn’t even see. She grabbed a steel chain from a nearby crate, swinging it to knock a man off balance, then ducking a kick meant for her ribs. Ramirez covered her, taking down another operative who had tried to sneak behind her.

The leader lunged again. This time, Sarah met his attack with sheer force. Pipe connected with his shoulder, spinning him backward. He twisted, bringing a knife into play. Steel clashed with metal. Sparks flew. His speed was lethal—but hers was refined, honed over years in life-or-death combat.

“You still hesitate,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why not end it now?”

“Because I don’t kill unless I have to,” Sarah replied, spinning low, taking him down to the floor with a leg sweep.

He landed hard, scraping against concrete. Ramirez moved to cover her, gun drawn. The leader’s eyes flicked to him, calculating.

“You’re both good,” he admitted, standing slowly. “Better than I expected. But this is where it ends.”

Before he could strike again, Sarah lunged, using his momentum against him. They tumbled across the floor, each trying to gain control. She pinned him, wrist at his throat. Pipe pressed against his chest, an unmistakable warning.

“Tell me what you want,” she demanded.

The leader gasped. “I want… loyalty. You were always too independent. That’s why you had to be eliminated. You could expose us. Everything. Now… it’s over.”

Sarah’s jaw tightened. “It’s over because you brought this fight to me.”

Ramirez cuffed the other operatives as Sarah held the leader down, breathing controlled. The rest of the Black Arrow men were incapacitated, groaning or unconscious. The sound of distant sirens grew louder.

“Call it in,” she said to Ramirez. “Make sure this is cleaned up.”

He nodded, dialing dispatch.

The leader glared at her, defiance still burning in his eyes. “You think this ends here? Black Arrow… doesn’t forget.”

Sarah leaned in close, voice calm but deadly. “And you think I do?”

The fear in his eyes was subtle, but it was there—the realization that he had underestimated her, that every plan he had relied on secrecy, precision, and intimidation had failed.

Moments later, the police stormed the warehouse, securing the scene. Ramirez explained everything. Sarah stepped back, allowing law enforcement to take over, letting the chaos settle around her.

Outside, dawn was breaking. The city breathed, unaware of how close it had come to darkness. Sarah stood on the steps, looking out over the streets she had fought to protect—not from some foreign battlefield, but from shadows that had invaded her home.

Ramirez approached, giving her a respectful nod. “You’re incredible.”

She shrugged, a faint smile on her lips. “Just another day.”

He glanced back at the police cars, the handcuffed operatives, and the warehouse now crawling with law enforcement. “Do you ever get a break?”

Sarah looked up at the rising sun, the pink and gold light washing over the buildings. “No,” she said softly. “Not really. But some fights… you fight for yourself. And tonight… I did.”

She turned toward her apartment, toward life beyond the shadows. Every step forward was deliberate, each breath free of anticipation for an attack.

Black Arrow may still exist. Others may come. But for now, Sarah Carter had survived. She had fought. And she had won.

The city woke around her. She adjusted her jacket and walked forward—into the ordinary world, ready to meet it head-on, prepared for anything that dared cross her path.

THE END