The chill of the concrete floor gradually stirred Laurel Lance awake. Her mind was still hazy, and her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light above. A cracked ceiling hovered into focus.
"Where... am I?"
She groaned, attempting to sit up—only to realize her body was completely bare, and her hands were bound to the ground with what looked like twisted rebar. She tugged instinctively, but it didn't budge. Panic began to rise in her chest. As her thoughts cleared, her memories started falling back into place.
She had stormed out after arguing with her father, wandered into the Glades, and was cornered by a mugger. Just when things seemed like they were about to spiral into something worse, a man—an Asian man—had suddenly appeared. He dodged bullets like something out of The Matrix and then… he punched clean through the mugger's head.
There had been blood, brain matter—and then darkness.
....
"You're awake."
A calm voice echoed from the shadows.
Laurel's eyes darted toward the sound. A shirtless figure stepped out from the dimness—it was the same man.
"You!" Laurel cried out. "What the hell is going on? Let me go! What do you want?"
Jack Kadere walked casually toward her and crouched beside her, smiling. "You could start by saying thank you."
"Thank you?! You kidnapped me! You want me to thank you for that?" Laurel shouted, struggling as hard as she could against the metal restraints. "My dad's a cop! Detective Quentin Lance! He will find me!"
"I know who he is," Jack said smoothly, brushing some hair away from her face with a casual gesture. "And before you get too worked up, let's break this down. One—you were about to get attacked in an alley. I stopped it. Two—I cleaned you up and washed your clothes." He nodded toward a neatly folded pile on a nearby crate. "And three—you passed out cold. Again. I had to make sure you didn't wake up screaming."
Laurel glared at him. "So what, that makes all of this okay? Why am I still like this then?" She shook her hands to rattle the makeshift cuffs.
"To make sure you'd actually listen," Jack replied simply. "And to show you how vulnerable you are right now. If I were someone worse, you'd already be dead—or worse. Think about that."
"You killed that guy in the alley, and now you've locked me up," Laurel spat. "And you're saying you're not a bad person?"
Jack chuckled, unfazed. "You think saving your life and killing a predator makes me a villain? Be honest, Laurel. If I hadn't stepped in, what do you think would've happened? Even if you'd survived, what would justice have done? A few years in prison—if that? He gets out, does it again. Maybe someone else doesn't get lucky next time."
"So what?" Laurel snapped. "You're telling me vigilante justice is the answer? You think murder is okay as long as it's convenient?"
Jack raised an eyebrow. "You're a law student, right? Then let's play that out. You believe justice is only what the courts say it is. Fine. But what about when the courts fail? What if the system lets the worst people walk free—again and again?"
Laurel's lips tightened. "The law exists for a reason. People like you are dangerous."
"I don't care about moral debates," Jack said coolly. "In the end, people justify whatever they want with flowery words. Me? I do what I want because I decide it's right. Simple as that."
He leaned closer. "Let me ask you something, Laurel. The man who killed your sister—if you had a chance to take him down, not in court, but permanently... would you do it?"
Laurel flinched. Her expression darkened. "He's already dead."
"You mean Oliver Queen?" Jack asked with a smile. "But was the yacht accident really... just an accident?"
Laurel's eyes shot wide. "What do you mean? Do you know something?"
Jack didn't answer. Instead, he gripped the rebar binding her wrists. With a sudden jerk, he ripped both bars from the cement as if they were twigs. Laurel stumbled upright, her expression dazed, arms rushing to cover herself as she instinctively backed away from him.
Then she heard Jack's voice, calm but serious. "I know who this guy is. And I know how dangerous he can be. Even if you got solid evidence and dragged him into a courtroom, he probably wouldn't spend a day behind bars. And if—when—he walks, he's coming after you. And your father. And maybe others too."
"Who is he?" Laurel demanded, her tone sharp, eyes narrowing.
Jack didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned to look at her, voice low but firm. "Think hard about this. Do you want to fight for justice using the law, or are you ready to kill for justice… to stop him from ever hurting someone again? Once you've figured that out, come find me. I'll give you the name."
He smiled faintly, then turned and walked into the shadows, grabbing his jacket off a rusted pipe as he vanished into the darkness.
"Wait! Don't go!" Laurel called out. "Why should I believe you?! What's your name?!"
His voice echoed back from the dark. "Jack Kadere."
The sound faded, swallowed by the distance.
Laurel stood still for a moment, uncertain, before slowly walking over to the pile of clothes nearby. As promised, they were neatly folded, clean, and even dry. She dressed quickly, found her bag in a corner, and fished out her phone. Skipping past missed notifications, she immediately dialed her father.
The call connected.
"Damn it, you finally turned your phone on," her father's voice came through, frustrated but relieved. "I don't care about the argument. Just don't ever shut off your phone again. If Sarah hadn't turned hers off that night, maybe I could've found her. Maybe she'd still be alive. Do you hear me? Never turn it off. Ever. Laurel? Are you listening?"
"…Yeah," she replied after a long pause. "I'll be home soon."