The bullpen smells faintly like pine, cheap sugar cookies, and gun oil. Nyssa Al Ghul is halfway through holstering her weapon when the alert hits. Not on her NCIS device. On her personal phone. A blocked number. One image. Daisy. Tied to a chair. Hospital scrubs. A scalpel glinting on a steel tray in the corner. Then a message: “You break soldiers. I break what you love. – Crane.” For the first time in years… Nyssa stops moving. Nyssa reaches Daisy first. Not as an agent. As a woman who almost lost everything. She grips Daisy’s face in both hands, searching. “Talk to me.” Nyssa pulls her into her chest, hard enough to feel her heartbeat. “You terrified me.” Nyssa, voice breaking just enough to be real: “Always.” The world can wait. Nyssa drives them home through quiet streets lit in red and gold. Nyssa’s hand never leaves her knee. No sirens. No radio. Just breathing. And the silent promise that Christmas still belongs to them.