Nolan stood frozen. The voice on the other end was clipped, urgent.
"We found Sherry. You need to get down here right now."
His mouth went dry. "What do you mean you found sherry? Is she okay?"
Silence. A beat. Then the same voice, sharper this time, more insistent.
"You just need to get down here."
"Please," another voice muttered in the background. "Tell him to hurry."
"You just need to get down here, boss. Sherry's… well uh we weren't the first ones to find her im sorry just hurry."
The line went dead.
Nolan stood there for a second, the champagne soaking into the carpet at his feet. His stomach turned. Without thinking, he grabbed his jacket, his burner phone, and bolted from the room. His mind was racing.
Please be okay, Sherry. Please.
He didn't wait for the elevator. He took the stairs three at a time, tearing through the empty corridors of Arden like the place was on fire.
Nolan ran like a man possessed.
The streets blurred around him. He barely registered the horns, the flashing lights, the shouts. He cut across alleys, vaulted fences, bypassed crowded sidewalks. His chest burned, legs aching but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not now.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
By the time he reached the block, he could already see them clusters of people huddled outside the safe house, anxious, murmuring. Faces he recognized. Faces from the streets. A few turned when they saw him sprinting in, sweat dripping down his temple, breath ragged.
He shoved through the small crowd. "Move—let me through!"
Then he saw her.
Sherry.
Collapsed against the doorway of the safe house, crumpled like a doll. Blood streaked down the side of her face, her clothes torn, her breathing shallow and labored. Someone had thrown a coat over her, but it did nothing to hide the bruises raw and blooming like violet welts across her arms, her ribs, her temple.
Nolan dropped to his knees beside her.
"No, no, no—Sherry." He cupped her face gently. "Hey, hey—it's me. I'm here. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered. Barely.
He touched her forehead. Her skin was cold.
"Sherry?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?" He brushed her blood-matted hair back, his voice cracking. "It's Nolan. I'm here."
She didn't answer. Just the faintest sound from her throat like a breath she couldn't fully exhale.
His heart thudded wildly in his chest.
He looked around, scanning the crowd.
"Where's her granddaughter?!" he shouted. "Where the hell is the girl?!"
No one answered. A few exchanged looks. Most just stared down, afraid.
The silence was louder than any response.
Nolan stood up abruptly, pacing a step back, hands gripping his hair. He spun toward one of the men nearby a tall, wiry guy named Theo who used to sleep three blocks down by the train yard.
"You—Theo—did you see who did this?"
Theo looked haunted. "No, man. I just—someone ran out screamin', said she was down. We came, found her like this. We didn't know about no girl."
Gone.
Nolan turned back toward Sherry, his knees giving way as he collapsed beside her again. He didn't care about the blood soaking through his sleeves now. His hand gripped hers.
"Stay with me," he whispered. "Don't you leave me now. I swear to God, Sherry. Stay with me."
He glanced back toward the safe house door, the cracked window, the signs of forced entry splinters and dust where the lock had been pried apart.
This wasn't random.
Someone came for her, and they took the girl.
Sherry lay there, her breath rasping in shallow, broken intervals.
Nolan didn't move from her side, didn't care that his knees were wet with blood. His hand still gripped hers like a lifeline, like if he just held on hard enough, she wouldn't slip away.
Then a voice broke the heavy silence.
"This is your fault."
Nolan turned his head sharply.
It was one of the men standing just outside the crowd. Rough coat. Burned-out eyes. Older, bitter. A man Nolan had seen once or twice during food runs—Harv, or maybe Hank. He couldn't remember.
"You started this whole… thing," the man growled, stepping forward, his voice growing louder. "This organization, this network. You made noise. You painted a target. Now look—look what's happened!"
Others looked away. Nobody agreed, but nobody stopped him either.
"How many more of us are gonna die like this, huh?" the man continued. "How many more bodies before you realize you brought this on all of us?"
Nolan stood.
"Shut up," he snapped.
"She's not dead."
But the man didn't back down. "You think you're a hero? You think you can fix Gotham by throwing burners and bread around like it's gonna change anything?!"
"I said shut up!" Nolan shouted, voice cracking.
The crowd fell silent.
Then it wasn't the man's voice Nolan heard.
'Let us take over,' Quentin's voice said smoothly.
'You're spiraling,' added Kieran.
'We can handle this. We're not pushing you out. Just let go for now. We've got you.'
Nolan squeezed his eyes shut.
"Shut up."
'You can't do this alone, Nolan,' Quentin urged again.
'You're breaking,' Kieran whispered.
'Let us in.'
"Shut up," Nolan repeated, louder this time.
Then, with a sudden fury, Nolan screamed, spinning toward the group toward the man who had spoken.
"Everyone be quiet, I said SHUT YOUR GODDAMNED MOUTHS!" He said holding his head
The street was dead still.
There had only been one man talking. The others were wide-eyed now, staring at Nolan with a strange kind of pity. A few took a step back.
Nolan stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving, fingers twitching like he didn't know what to do with them. His jaw clenched. He looked at Sherry, then back up at them.
"This wasn't the organization's fault," he said, voice quieter now, but shaking with intensity. "Sherry was protecting her granddaughter. She wasn't in the books. Nobody knew she was here."
He looked around at all of them homeless, stragglers, allies. Faces that had depended on him.
"Someone took that girl," he continued, voice now steel. "Whoever did this came for her. Not Sherry. And they sure as hell didn't come because of the organization. They came for the girl."
Nolan's voice dropped, slow and cold. "They're still in Gotham."
He pointed toward the crowd.
"Find them."
No one moved.
"I don't care what you have to do. I don't care what alleys you dig through, what dealers you shake down, what whispers you follow. Use the network. Talk to everyone. We have people in every corner of this city. Find them, they have her granddaughter and for the love of god get her to the doctor!"
His voice was thunder now.
"Find them. And tell me immediately when you do."
A beat of silence passed—then a few began to move. Quietly. Determined. Some disappeared into the shadows without a word. Others nodded grimly and followed.
Nolan looked back down at Sherry, brushing a hand against her forehead again.
"You're gonna be okay," he whispered, almost as if it would make it true.
Soon she was taken from Nolan's arms and being rushed to the good doctor.
Nolan stood and turned to the last remaining homeless man in the alley, "Find me a gun."