Detective Lance's hand clenched around the doorframe so hard Thea thought he might rip it clean off.
"Listen, young lady," he said through gritted teeth. "Maybe one day I'll forgive the Queen family—but I will never forgive Oliver Queen. Not now, not ever. Remember that."
He shot her one last glare and stormed away.
Well… that didn't go as planned. Negotiations failed. As expected, this grudge wasn't something easily erased.
Oliver, honestly—what was he thinking? Playing both sisters at once? Even Sun Ce, as brash as he was, at least shared one beauty with Zhou Yu. You've brought shame on the whole family, including your little sister!
Still, even if things hadn't gone perfectly, Lance hadn't rejected cooperation with Queen Consolidated. That was a partial victory. The man technically had a captain above him, but that superior was more focused on politics and rarely interfered in daily work. In truth, Star City's police department ran entirely on Lance's shoulders.
But this rift had to be mended soon. If Lance ever woke up one morning in a bad mood and decided to "flip the table," her entire PR project would go up in smoke.
And she'd have to bring Sara Lance back as quickly as possible. Once Sara returned, the feud would settle naturally—at least between the Lances and the Queens. As for the "two sisters, one man" disaster that might follow, that was their family problem, not hers.
She frowned, recalling the show's timeline. Sara should still be alive aboard that ship. If Oliver didn't mess things up too early, she'd be fine for a few more months.
Knowing she had some time, Thea shelved the rescue plan for now. Looking beside her, she noticed Laurel's downcast face. It was hard to tell if she was mourning her sister or still heartbroken over Oliver. Either way, Thea owed her gratitude for helping today. She gave her a gentle hug.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," Laurel said with a faint tremor in her voice. "You're stronger than I thought, Thea."
Thea already knew Oliver and Sara weren't truly dead, but thinking of her adoptive father, Robert Queen, still made her chest tighten. She quickly changed the subject. "Can you give me a ride home? You know… still no driver's license."
Laurel laughed softly. "Sure."
The two drove back to the Glades. Only when they arrived did Thea realize her so-called "Software Department" was just across the street from Laurel's law firm. They agreed to meet again sometime for tea.
By dusk, Thea was back in the forest for her daily training. Half a year had passed since she'd begun. Archery, close combat, knife techniques—she'd become skilled at all of them. According to Malcolm, she was already on par with a standard member of the League of Assassins, only lacking real combat experience.
Unlike in the original story, where birds of a feather flocked together—speedsters with The Flash, and archers with Team Arrow—this Thea had little interest in joining her brother's team. Sure, she'd help in a pinch, but formally joining? No thanks.
Her focus had always been on ambush defense. If she had her gear ready, she could retreat safely, maybe even win. But if caught off guard? Then she was finished. Skills didn't mean much if you were unarmed in real life. Of course, she could always go full lunatic and walk around town carrying a sword, but her pride wouldn't allow that.
So, she trained mainly in unarmed combat—joint locks, judo, karate, and KGB close-quarters techniques. She could hold her own against Malcolm, roughly sixty-forty—though only because he was holding back. Biological differences in strength and mass were impossible to ignore.
She waited in the woods for a while, wondering why Malcolm was late. Then, extending her senses, she detected several figures to her right—muttering, stumbling toward her.
Three men emerged. It was impossible to tell their age; their makeup was that bad. Each wore thick black eyeliner, making their faces ghostly in the fading light. Dressed entirely in dark clothes, from afar they looked like those shadowy silhouettes from Detective Conan.
Each had shiny metal rings and piercings glinting faintly in the dark. They walked unsteadily, swaying like drunks—or ghosts sliding across the ground.
Where did these clowns spawn from? Thea didn't feel afraid, but she didn't want trouble either. She turned slightly, planning to let them pass and move to another part of the forest to wait for Malcolm.
"Hey, there's a chick over there!" one of them slurred.
The other two, half-drunk, didn't think twice—instinct kicked in, and they charged forward like they'd been injected with adrenaline.
Seeing them come closer, Thea sighed. So this was probably another of Malcolm's "field tests." There was no other reason three idiots would wander into this godforsaken place.
Fine. Time to see what she could do in a real fight.
She decided to strike first—not because she was scared of losing, but because she didn't want to hear any disgusting lines that would ruin her appetite later.
Dropping her bow and knife to the side, she flexed her hands and rolled her shoulders. Facing the three buffoons, she hesitated for a moment. Each one looked equally punchable. She couldn't decide who to start with.
"Hey, sweetheart—" one thug began, grinning.
Decision made. Not because he spoke first, but because, scientifically speaking, he deserved it most.
No need for fancy moves. Against weaklings like these, her "special techniques"—like the Black Widow-style KGB throw, jumping up and twisting an opponent's neck with her legs—were overkill. Too lethal, and frankly, too awkward to learn from her father.
So instead, she grabbed the lead thug's right hand and twisted sharply in the opposite direction.
"AAAHHH!" His scream echoed through the forest, piglike.
With his back to her and his body completely open, Thea moved to finish him off with a judo leg sweep. But as she reached for his ear—she froze.
His ears were covered in metal studs, a dozen of them, glittering in the dim light.
He looked like a porcupine.
Wait… what if touching him stabbed her hand?