"You can call me the Humanoid Master… or the Puppet Master. They're the same thing," Daniel said, his voice hoarse and resonant, carrying a weight that made Elektra's pulse skip. "But I prefer the name Humanoid Master. Hell Humanoid Master, if you want the full title."
Something about his tone seeped into her thoughts like smoke, pulling her in before she even realized it. Her gaze flicked instinctively to the wall clock. Several minutes had passed—minutes she couldn't remember. A sharp chill crawled up her spine.
"What have you done to me?" she demanded, her hand shooting to the small of her back where her ten-ringed knives rested.
"Nothing you need to fear," Daniel replied coolly. "It's just a safeguard. A guarantee of cooperation. I'm not interested in you, Elektra. I'm interested in… the puppet."
His eyes finally dropped to the black ledger on the table between them. "Where do you plan to start? How will you crack the codes in there?"
Elektra's hand slammed down on the ledger. "No. First, you're going to answer me. Who are you? Where do you come from? And why are you involved with the Hand?"
Daniel's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smirk touching his lips. "It seems you don't know as much about the Hand as I thought. I expected someone trained by him to be better informed. Years of bloodshed between your group and the Hand… yet you don't know their enemies? Their allies?"
He tilted his head, his gaze sharpening like a blade. "Or should I take my questions to Stick?"
The names hit Elektra like a physical blow. Stick.
Her eyes widened despite herself. No one outside their world should know those names. Not Fisk. Not Bullseye. Not even Daredevil. Those men barely knew she was the daughter of a Greek diplomat—let alone her connection to Stick or the True Innocents.
But this man—this Puppet Master—knew everything.
"Explain yourself," Elektra demanded, her voice low, tense. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her knives. If he wasn't a Hand assassin, then he had to be something worse. No one else would know these secrets. "Whose side are you really on?"
Daniel's gaze never wavered. "You're familiar with the Hand's resurrection technique, aren't you? One of my apprentices was taken by them. I never found him again."
The words came smoothly, but there was something chillingly believable about them.
If Stick had been there, he would have drawn two conclusions instantly: Daniel was either a high-ranking defector from the Hand—or someone powerful enough to stand outside their influence and defy them openly.
For decades, the Hand had stolen people from the shadows—homeless men, nurses, even heirs to old families—feeding their secret arts of resurrection. The Hand believed themselves untouchable.
But Daniel stood here, unafraid.
Elektra's mind raced. She had heard whispers of the Hand's ability to resurrect the dead, but she'd always dismissed it as myth or fear-mongering. YetDaniel's unwavering tone made her stomach tighten. Could it be true?
She couldn't trust him. Not yet. She couldn't risk leading him to Stick.
Stick's network was scattered, invisible. Even she didn't know where her mentor was now. France? India? Canada? He could be anywhere, moving like a ghost. His arrangements were endless; his enemies countless.
This man seemed to know more than even she did. And that terrified her.
Elektra finally exhaled and opened the ledger, scanning the complex pages of symbols and coded entries. Her eyes narrowed. "You really can't crack this?"
"I've tried," Daniel admitted with a shrug. "I even hired a few specialists. None of them made a dent. That's why I came to you. You were my last, best option."
Her eyes flicked up to him sharply. "So… you did see me that night."
Her voice dropped, recalling the night she'd nearly died, the night she'd felt those shadows closing in.
Either Daniel had gotten to the Roxon Energy Building before she did—or he had stolen the ledger right after she'd left.
"I need time," Erica said finally, shutting the ledger with a snap. "Cracking these codes isn't simple. It's going to take days."
"Then I'll return when you've done it," Daniel replied, standing as if the decision was final.
Elektra frowned. "Aren't you worried I'll decode it and keep the information for myself?"
"Do as you like," Daniel said coldly. His body began to blur, his silhouette fading as if swallowed by shadows. Only his voice remained, echoing in the quiet apartment:
"But be careful, Elektra. Bullseye is coming for you."
Elektra's lips curved into a dark smile. "Let him try. I've been waiting to kill him."
Yet even as she said it, her thoughts returned to him. Bullseye didn't scare her. Fisk didn't scare her. But this Puppet Master?
He unsettled her in ways she couldn't name. The way he disappeared just now—his entire form dissolving into thin air—was no trick she recognized. Too precise. Too clean.
She tied her damp hair into a loose knot, then picked up her phone. The first number she dialed connected after a single ring.
"I need a codebreaker," she said sharply, before the voice on the other end could speak. "Someone I can trust. No leaks. It's urgent."
The ledger was too dangerous to show to anyone unvetted. If word got out, the Hand would be on her doorstep before nightfall.
As she hung up, her mind flashed to Daniel's cryptic title: Puppet Master.
She'd heard stories. Men who collected people—beautiful, famous, or skilled—and turned them into living weapons. Puppets. Tools.
She wasn't going to become one of them. Not now. Not ever.
The phone rang again.
Elektra stared at it for a long moment before picking it up.