Artemis POV
The front door slamd behind , echoing through the house like a gunshot. My legs carried forward before I could even think.
Blood dripped from my fingertips, soaking into the sleeves of my jacket.
When did that happen?
I hadn't stopped to inspect every bruise. All of throbbed with pain—mind and body.
My heels scraped against the tile as I rounded the corner.
She was waiting in the dining room.
Mom.
Her chair was angled just slightly toward the hall, like she'd been staring down it all night, listening for any sign of . Her blanket had slipped off her lap, forgotten. When our eyes t, her whole face lit up with sothing terrible and fragile.
Hope.
I broke.
I dropped to my knees beside her chair and clung to her arm, the tears hitting hard and fast, like a dam splitting open.
"I ssed up," I whispered, choking on the words. "I really ssed up."
She placed a hand on my head, her fingers moving through my tangled hair. Gentle. Steady. Like she used to when I was little—before the chair.
"I knew sothing was wrong from the beginning," I bit my lip, "but I hesitated, and sobody got hurt."
She went still, and I pulled back, looking up at her. My face must've said enough because I saw the understanding creep in—slow and bitter.
She held tighter.
"This isn't on you. I knew Lawrence was up to no good when he showed up at my PT." She cradled my face. "Tell everything."
I closed my eyes and did as she asked. The night replayed in my mind—especially the bit at the end.
Earlier That Night
The alley stank of oil and blood. My vision was swimming—blurry and edged with red—but I found my bow easily enough.
He stood there. The doctor.
His hands were tucked into his bloody lab coat, calm like this was just another shift at the ER. The streetlight reflected off his round glasses.
"You move, and I shoot," I said.
"No, you won't," he replied smoothly. "You have a concussion, and you don't have the stomach for killing."
I adjusted my stance, ignoring the throbbing in my head. He must've heard argue with Dad and Jade.
"These arrows bind, not kill. They'll keep you tied up long enough for the police to scoop you up."
His smile endured, like I hadn't just made a threat.
"Rather sophisticated for soone so gullible," he said.
"Where were you taking Mark Desmond?" I snapped. "Answer ."
"Right attitude. Wrong question."
"Quit stalling," I growled.
"If you insist, I'll save us both the ti then," he said. "Consider this: Why take Desmond at all? If your father's goal was justice for his employer, why not administer it? Why keep him alive?"
My grip eased on my bow as I blinked in thought.
Then it clicked, and the doctor's eyes glinted with amusent.
"They want to make more of him," I whispered.
Jade had lied to .
He nodded slowly, approving. "I knew you could do it."
"Shut up!" I snarled, firing my shot. I'd just about had enough of him. Soone was probably close, the police or Ivy's people. Either way, they'd find the jackass bound up and laying in the street.
The doctor dodged… to my utter surprise.
A shot rang out, and the wall next to my head exploded, raising a plu of dust and brick. My heart skipped a beat.
Roland was on his feet, gun trained on .
He fired again, and I leaped—straight into a dumpster, knocking the breath out of and sending fresh waves of pain traveling up and down my body.
It gave the clarity I needed to dodge the next few shots.
I scrambled up a fire escape, loosing a grappling arrow toward the opposite roof. I heard people shouting below. I didn't wait—zipping up and over the ledge.
"I escaped," I said quietly. "Barely. I don't know where they took him. I don't even know if the cure is real."
Mom's hand trembled where it rested on mine.
"Oh, it is. Your father left a cryptic ssage about the mission being complete. Apparently, paynt is waiting for sowhere called Nanda Parbat."
"I've never heard of it." I frowned and looked into her eyes. "Mom, you're not thinking about taking the cure, are you?"
"Never," she said, her voice steely. "Your father and I differ widely in our approach—even when we were both active. The ends do not always justify the ans."
I let out a long breath. I felt a confusing mix of relief, guilt, and pride.
"I have to fix this," I said. "I have to find Jade, Dad, and Mark. He might be dangerous, but no one deserves to be experinted on. Whoever bankrolled this has to be a major player. They might even be in the private sector. I need help. I might have to go to the League."
Mom was quiet for a long mont.
"Do what you think you must. But don't forget—there's always a price."
Julius's POV
The relief I felt leaving Ivy's domain didn't last long, and in a mont of weakness, I considered the League's offer.
Then, I reminded myself that they were just a bigger, well-dressed-up version of Penguin or Mask.
I could always get out from under Penguin's thumb through force or negotiation. But these Shadow guys scared . I couldn't see their scope or limits, and I had a feeling that taking their help would an a lifeti of arena fights and brutal assassinations.
I much more preferred killing on my own terms.
Still, it sucked shifting back to survival mode. Once again, I was at the rcy of Gotham. Alone. Hunted. And paranoid.
But not unprotected.
I had fewer levels than I'd hoped for after the fight pits, but I was far more powerful than I could've imagined.
Powerful enough to take down a reinforced safehouse.
But was it enough to survive everything else the city had in store for ?
I guess I'd find out soon enough.
But first, I had to do so creative space managent.
My Cursed Inventory technique had a higher weight threshold since I unlocked it several weeks ago—150 pounds per slot, to be exact.
It was just limited by the pesky rules of the technique: one new item for every 100 points in Cursed Energy.
In a year, maybe I could afford to be less conscious about what went where. But for now, I had to be deliberate.
I dropped all my gear in a dark alley and cast Curtain before I started sorting.
The grenades and smoke bombs were up first.
No need for both containers. I dumped the wooden crate that held the grenades and stuffed them into the foam-lined plastic case that ca with the smoke bombs.
I freed up my third slot by cramming my recorder into the large case with all of my new weapons. It was a bit of a squeeze, but I also got in the new clothes, cash, guns, and magazines.
Unsurprisingly, the case flew past the weight limit, so I had to switch to my weighted combat boots and throw on a slash-resistant hoodie and leather jacket. The air was nippy tonight. I appreciated the extra layers.
After all that shuffling, I had one slot free. My new brass knuckles went in there—which was a bit of a surprise—but I shrugged it off, figuring they were designed as a pair or sothing.
With that squared away, I took to the rooftops, leaping from building to building with precise use of Cursed Energy. It was far more economical than constant reinforcent.
I used Curtain twice—
Once to sneak past a police officer.
The second was when I hotwired a motorcycle.
It gave the cover I needed to escape Ivy's territory and reach an impound lot just outside the Narrows. I parked the bike way off the road before clearing the fence with a single jump.
What I ca for sat at the very edge, undisturbed.
A heavy-duty van.
Why did I need it?
To smash through whatever bullshit defenses Black Mask had put up, of course.
I might be strong now, but I wasn't rip-through-reinforced-steel-bars strong.
I grinned.
This was going to be fun.
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