The first shot was dismissed as luck.

Flash had been running through downtown when a bullet struck his leg.

Mid-run.

No warning. No visible shooter. Just one impossibly precise shot that dropped the fastest man alive out of motion.

A week later, Superman was hit in the arm.

Then Batman.

Then Wonder Woman.

Sometimes in broad daylight while addressing civilians. Sometimes while the Justice League was already fighting the Legion of Doom.

The pattern became impossible to ignore.

Someone was hunting them.

And apparently, that someone was exceptionally good at it.

Lex became interested.

Not because he particularly cared about the League’s injuries, but because he understood what the sniper’s existence meant.

The Justice League was becoming cautious.

More watchful.

Less willing to stand in open spaces.

They were checking rooftops, windows, shadows, surrounding buildings. Every public appearance became a potential ambush.

Lex wanted the person responsible.

So he spent an unreasonable amount of money finding them.

He hired two men who specialized in finding people who didn’t want to be found.

Deadshot.

Deathstroke.

Neither was particularly thrilled about working with the other.

“This is humiliating,” Floyd muttered.

Slade barely glanced at him. “Then stop talking.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Good. We’re making progress.”

Despite their mutual irritation, they found her.

And the answer was almost absurd.

She wasn’t hiding in some underground bunker or operating from a heavily fortified safehouse.

She was an elementary school teacher.

That afternoon, she stood outside the school as parents arrived, calmly ensuring every child was collected by the correct adult. She smiled politely, checked names, and watched the children disappear one by one into waiting cars.

Nothing about her suggested an assassin.

Until she lifted her head.

Across the street, two men were watching her.

Deadshot and Deathstroke.

She noticed them immediately.

No panic.

No sudden movement.

No attempt to flee.

She simply looked at them.

Her expression remained almost innocently calm.

But her eyes were different.

Calculating.

Measuring.

She studied their posture, their hands, their clothing, the way they stood, the weapons they were almost certainly carrying.

And for one unsettling moment, it seemed less like she was looking at two men who had come to find her…

and more like she was determining exactly where she would shoot them if necessary.

Floyd ‘s expression shifted.

“Tell me you see that.”

Slade’s visible eye narrowed.

“I see it.”

“She’s a schoolteacher.”

“I noticed.”

“And she’s looking at us like we’re already dead.”

Slade watched her carefully.

“She’s not surprised we’re here.”

Floyd ‘s hand subtly moved closer to his weapon.

“Yeah.”

The woman finally turned away, calmly helping another child toward their parent.

Slade didn’t move.

Neither did Floyd.

Because they had found their sniper.

And judging by the way she’d looked at them, she’d known they were coming long before they ever found her.