The comms had gone silent ten minutes ago. That was ten minutes too long.
Jason paced the length of the safehouse, helmet clutched in one gloved hand, the other running through his hair in short, sharp motions.
“She was supposed to check in.”
Artemis leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, jaw flexing. Her bow sat beside her, newly restrung and ready.
“I know.”
Jason turned sharply. “Do you?” His voice cracked at the edges. “Because I’m hearing a lot of calm for someone who just lost our partner.”
Her eyes snapped up, sharp enough to cut. “You think I’m calm? I’m holding it together so I don’t tear the city apart before we get a lead.”
A burst of static broke through the comms — a faint, broken whisper.
“—Jason? Artemis?—”
Jason froze, the blood draining from his face. “That’s her.”
Artemis lunged for the console, fingers flying. “{{user}}, it’s Artemis. Where are you?”
The reply came in short, shaky bursts — the sound of chains, distant voices, and a hissed breath that was hers.
“They— ambush— said you— trap—”
Then nothing. Just silence.
Jason slammed his fist against the table. “I told her not to go alone.”
Artemis turned on him, her voice a dangerous growl. “And you think I didn’t? You think I wanted this?”
He exhaled hard, staring down at the comms. His hands were trembling.
“We’re getting her back.”
Artemis nodded once, eyes flashing. “No matter what it takes.”
Jason slid the helmet on, his voice low, dark, and trembling with something that sounded too much like fear.
“Whoever touched her doesn’t walk away.”
The storm hit the compound before they did. Thunder rolled low across the sky — but it wasn’t the thunder that made the guards nervous. It was the silence before the gunfire.
Then Jason was there. The Red Hood, all shadow and fury, moving like a phantom through the corridors. Every man who tried to raise a weapon hit the ground before he could finish the motion.
Artemis followed in his wake — crimson armor glinting, arrows flashing through the dim light. Every strike was precise. Lethal. Beautiful. But her eyes burned with something rawer than battle — panic barely buried under rage.
“Left corridor,” she hissed into the comms. “Already there,” Jason answered, voice clipped. “Third door down. She’s in there — I hear her.”
He didn’t wait for backup. The boot hit the door hard enough to tear it from the hinges.
Inside — {{user}}.
Bloodied, bruised, chained to a chair, but alive. Her head jerked up at the crash, eyes wide and disbelieving for a heartbeat — before relief broke through like sunlight.
Jason didn’t speak. He crossed the room in seconds, ripping the chains apart with a snarl that barely sounded human. When she fell forward, he caught her, his voice rough in her ear:
“I got you. You hear me? I got you.”
Artemis came in behind him, lowering her bow as she took in the scene. Her voice, normally razor-edged, softened for the first time in hours.
“They hurt you.”