The van pulled over at the curb without warning. The side door slid open, and several men jumped out at once, moving fast and aggressive. Hands reached for Michelle. Those were the same guys that tried to abduct Jessica Morgan. But they had chosen the wrong target. Bootcamp training kicked in before fear could take hold. Even without enhancement, Michelle was not an easy target. She twisted, struck back, and fought to break free. The other Fangs were not far away yet, saw what's happening and came to help. When the goons saw Trella, they panicked. They still remember the beatdown they've received from her in the past. The engine revved suddenly. One of the thugs hit the throttle while the others were still holding Michelle. The van lurched forward. Michelle lost her balance and went down hard, her body twisting as she hit the street. Pain exploded through her wrist. Trella was at her side instantly. “Michelle! Are you hurt?”

  “My wrist hurts,” Michelle said through clenched teeth. “That idiot hit the throttle while the others were still holding me… I fell down at a bad angle.”

  Aya’s jaw tightened. “That does it! Nobody does that to us and keeps walking!”

  “They crossed the line,” Trella said flatly.

  She pulled out her phone. “Maya, gear up. They hurt Michelle. Find them.”

  Almost immediately, the roar of an engine cut through the distance. A black bike burst out from the direction of the orphanage, accelerating hard.

  Michelle lay on the infirmary bed as Milena examined her wrist with careful hands. Bruises were already blooming along her arm, ugly shades of purple and blue.

  “No broken bones,” Milena said at last. “Only bruises. Painful, but nothing that an icepack can't handle.”

  Relief rippled through the room, but it did nothing to calm the fury simmering beneath it. Williams arrived minutes later. One look at Michelle’s swollen wrist, and his expression hardened. He was furious. Not at Michelle. Not at the girls. But at the men who had touched her. The anger was focused, cold, and aimed exactly where it belonged. The girls felt it too. Nobody injures family and gets away with it. Then the radio crackled.

  “Found them,” Maya’s voice said.

  “Where?” Trella asked.

  “Old hangar near Tipton. And it’s them. Saw the guy who hired me back then.”

  “Let’s get them. Maya, keep an eye on them and wait for us.”

  Aya hesitated. “What about the CIA orders?”

  Williams didn’t look away from Michelle’s wrist. “You know what?” he said. “They hurt Michelle. To hell with our orders. But don’t kill them all. Bring back a few souvenirs for Milena.”

  The girls stared at him. They couldn't believe what Williams just said.

  The cars were parked at a distance. Near the hangar, Kane’s right-hand man was tearing into the gang, his voice was sharp and furious. None of them noticed the shadows moving into position. The girls melted into cover, invisible, patient. Cherry Bomb rolled first. Pepper smoke grenades bounced across the concrete and detonated in hissing clouds. The thugs ran straight into the trap. The Fangs closed in from every direction. Chaos erupted.

  One girl fell from above - Amelie, repeating her old stunt, crashing down from the roof and pancaking a car beneath her.

  The right-hand man and two others who looked important were dragged screaming into a van. The rest were forced to line up for execution. Only flashes were visible from a distance.

  ***

  The vans rolled back through the gates. Aya hopped out first. “You wanted to see the orphanage up close?” she said cheerfully. “Your wish is granted.”

  They dragged the captives inside.

  “Welcome,” Trella said calmly. “Tables are set. Your host is waiting. You’re going to tell us everything.”

  “Yeah, right!” the right-hand man snapped. “In your dream! And what is CIA doing here?! I thought you were ordered to keep your hands away from us!”

  Williams stepped forward. “Well, I’m off duty. And they are no CIA. I am not responsible for what they do in their free time.”

  His gaze lingered on Michelle’s swollen wrist. For just a heartbeat, he wasn’t Agent Williams, CIA liaison, or the man who bent rules to keep these girls alive. He was a father. The girls pushed the goons toward the basement stairs.

  “I’m not walking down there!” one of them shouted.

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  “You don’t have to ‘walk’,” Aya said.

  She punched him hard between the shoulders. He didn’t fall. He flew.

  “Next?”

  The remaining two went down hesitantly, but on their own feet. Below, Milena’s autopsy room waited. Stainless steel tables gleamed under cold lights. The goons were strapped down. Ivy prepared the syringe. The neurotoxin enhanced nerve sensitivity. Every sensation would be magnified. Whatever Milena did, they would feel it multiplied. They held out as long as they could. But no one can withstand Milena′s interrogation. By the end, they all wished for a quick death. Milena got everything. Now the girls knew it all. Payback time. But not a simple one. A bullet to the forehead was too easy. They had other plans.

  ***

  City lights glittered beyond the glass wall, but Victor Kane barely noticed them. Papers lay spread across his desk. His Rolex ticked softly as he worked. A dull thump echoed outside his private elevator. Kane frowned, unlatched the security bolt, and opened the door. Two long black shapes lay on the marble floor. One zipped shut. Creased. Smeared faintly dark.

  The other one was empty. For a heartbeat, he forgot to breathe. He crouched, fingers brushing the cold fabric. Refrigerated cold. He tugged the zipper open just enough to glimpse a ruined, familiar face of his right-hand man. What was left of him was precise and clinical. Someone had taken their time. The empty bag carried no note. No symbol. Just a promise. Water dripped from the thawing seam, tracing a line across the marble. His pulse kicked. Kane straightened slowly, face smoothing into practiced calm. He closed the door without calling security. Instead, he poured scotch and stared out at the city.

  They’re not amateurs. And they’re coming for me.

  Kane stood a long while, the city’s neon reflected in the glass. Then he picked up a private phone from the bar shelf, he looked at one of only three numbers in the world that line ever called. He hesitated—just a fraction of a second—before dialing. The line clicked alive, a gravel voice answering without greeting. Kane kept his tone level, but his free hand drummed a sharp, restless rhythm on the counter.

  “I need extra coverage,” Kane said. “Quiet. Nothing flashy. Somebody’s sending messages and I just got one on my doorstep.”

  “Is this about that Morgan job?”

  “Consider it… escalated.” Kane′s eyes flicking back to the two black bags on the marble. “Get me eyes, and make sure they know how to stay alive. I need insurance. The best you’ve got. Quiet, deniable.”

  “You’ll have your backup. I′ll send you three assets,” the voice replied. “They’ll correct your problem.”

  The call ended as abruptly as it began. Kane set the phone down gently, but his fingers lingered on it, as if weighing whether to call someone else, or no one at all. The city lights flickered in the window, suddenly looking less like stars and more like crosshairs.

  ***

  An abandoned auto-repair shop on the edge of town has been converted into a safehouse. The metal roof ticks softly as it cools. A single bare bulb buzzes over a scarred table stacked with surveillance photos, among them the bodybag shot. Kane hasn’t slept. His pistol rests near his hand; half-drained coffee has gone cold. Kane stiffens, glances through a slat in the boarded-up window. A nondescript black SUV with no plates rolls to a stop. Three teenage Chinese girls step out in eerie synchronization. Black tailored suits. Sunglasses, even in the dawn gloom. Perfectly pressed collars. Each carries a compact duffel. They stand motionless, waiting, as if carved from glass.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…” Kane mutters under his breath

  He opens the door. The three move as one, entering silently. The smell of metal and dust fills the room. They stop two paces inside, hands at their sides, faces blank. Kane studies them. No patches, no agency tags, nothing. The burner phone on the table vibrates. Kane picks up.

  “Schmidt…”

  “Ah, Kane. You sound disappointed. I was told you wanted reinforcements.”

  “What I wanted was backup, not… high-school exchange students.”

  “Appearances deceive. These are not children. Consider them… a proprietary solution.”

  “Proprietary? From your pill factory?”

  “Pharmaceutical research, my good man. Cutting-edge therapies, experimental neuro-regulators. Words that would bore you. Let’s just say they’re highly trained and exceptionally reliable. They’ll obey orders without question. Yours.”

  “They′re armed?”

  “They don’t need weapons to outperform most men you’ve worked with. But if it calms you, there’s an equipment case in their vehicle. Use it wisely.”

  “This isn’t funny, Schmidt. You think sending me three mutes fixes this?”

  “Oh, Kane… you asked for protection. You got protection. If you can’t manage three girls, perhaps the problem isn’t them.”

  “This better not be a joke.”

  “Jokes cost extra. Data is priceless. Call if you survive long enough to need resupply.”

  Click. The line goes dead. Kane stares at the silent girls, their mirrored lenses catching the buzzing bulb. One tilts her head by a fraction, almost mechanical. The hairs on his neck rise. He feels mocked, undercut, but cornered. He holsters his weapon with a curse, forcing authority into his voice.

  “Fine. You follow my lead. We move tonight.”

  The three give no acknowledgment, no nod, no word, just turn toward the SUV to collect their gear. The empty safehouse feels colder. Kane has backup, but for the first time since he started chasing the Black Fang, he’s not sure he wants it.

  ***

  Kane sits in his provisional office a half-empty glass sweating on the table. His anger is barely contained under a calm exterior. A low-level street informant slides nervous into the booth.

  “You’re paying big for this, right? Word is, those girls, whoever they are, are ghosts.”

  “I’m not paying for rumors. I’m paying for bait. Spread it: the traffickers they burned down are regrouping at the east rail yard, Friday, midnight. Make it sound desperate, sloppy… believable.”

  “If they’re really CIA ghosts, they’ll sniff this out.”

  “They’re not spooks. Just brats with guns. Scared brats make mistakes.”

  ***

  The girls took the bait and went investigating. Trella, Aya, Aiko, Mei-Ling and Maya.

  Talia stayed behind as the van driver. The rest is on standby to avoid raising suspicion. The girls slip between silent freight cars under weak orange lights. The whole place smells of rust and diesel.

  “Nothing. No movement.” Maya whispered.

  “Feels like a setup. I hate quiet.“ Aya muttered.

  “Eyes open,” Trella said. “Don’t bunch up.”

  A flicker. One of the sodium lamps dies with a buzz. Then another. Darkness spreads in patches. A freight car door screeches open. A shadow drops silently onto the gravel—one of the Chinese girls. Then another appears atop a container, and a third steps out from between two cars. They move in sync, almost mechanical. Black suits. Shades glinting. No words, no hesitation.