Malcolm thought fast. "It was a dark night. I was discovered by a woman—long coat, black hair, a long blade in her hand—and then…"
Thea listened with a face that said everything. The first half of that description? That sounded exactly like Lady Shiva. Nice one, Dad, she thought, subtly giving Malcolm a thumb-up while Tommy wasn't looking. You're really something…
Malcolm had painted himself into a corner and could only bluff his way out. Afraid his children would press for awkward details, he excused himself with a sudden bout of dizziness and sent them away.
Since he wouldn't tell the truth, Thea and Tommy left and went to contact the media. Their family names—and the tiny reputational advantages that came with them—opened doors. Invitations were accepted; the press agreed to show up.
⸻
Three days later, the Star City Police Department and Queen Consolidated held their formal signing ceremony. Naturally, Thea wasn't the center of attention—Moira was the one on stage.
The "officer fund" had only been mentioned to Moira casually; neither of them cared how small the actual amount was. The goodwill it would buy was the real return on investment. Watching her mother deliver the speech—big, sweeping, patriotic—thea had to admit Moira had a knack for politics. Her rhetoric was empty but warm; it made people feel good. If Moira ever ran for office, today would be a very good opening chapter.
Not wanting to steal her mother's thunder, Thea dressed down: T-shirt, jeans, canvas sneakers—neighbor-girl casual—and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail. Felicity sat beside her, sulking at the political theater but tagging along from boredom. The two of them whispered now and then; from a distance they looked like two friends sharing secrets. Up close, their whispers could drop a jaw or two.
"Still stuck on the missiles?" Thea murmured. "All the speed in the world won't help if we can't get them out."
"I know," Felicity grumbled. "It's a nightmare. You need three signatures to remove hardware, plus a password lock that rotates every day. It's practically impossible."
"I can hack the lock," Thea said casually. "Change the agreement. By the way, your software is trash—don't glare at me, I'm just being honest. The signatures, though, are on you."
"Ok, ok—shut up," Felicity sniffed, half offended, half thrilled.
Thea frowned and hatched a plan. "What if we just get the hoverboard built, then hit a few gang dens? They'll have hot weapons. Missiles are a stretch, but the rest—maybe."
"That could work, but how do you deal with gang members?" Felicity made a punching motion with her hand. "They won't just hand stuff over."
"I'll shoot them," Thea said with a grin. "Handguns are effective to fifty meters; my arrows reach a hundred—and they make no sound."
"Flying Robin Hood? That's actually kind of badass." Felicity's eyes lit up; she wanted to rush back and start assembling right then.
Meanwhile the ceremony went on. Moira, sensing an opportunity to broaden her influence, had invited half the city's dignitaries. For the sake of their security, the lieutenant had pulled police resources back to headquarters—Lance objected a little, but in the end acquiesced.
Just as Moira wrapped up and announced the dinner reception, the main chandelier popped off: click. The side lights did the same in unison—click click click. Darkness swallowed the ornate ballroom like someone had drawn a curtain over it.
"What's happening? John, protect me—"
"My dear, get over here!"
"Someone's stealing my bag—officer!"
The panic was instant and theatrical, the kind of staged blackout you'd seen in too many movies. Thea had not expected anyone to be so bold as to strike right under the noses of fifteen hundred police officers, but the room descended into chaos: shouts, people shoving, furniture overturned. Thea and Felicity remained low in their corner; Thea told Felicity to stay put and closed her eyes, reaching out with her heightened awareness to pinpoint Moira's location. She ran.
"Come with me." Thea grabbed her mother's hand and tried to get them both out, but Moira was surrounded. In the pitch dark, they couldn't move more than a couple of meters without being jostled. Thea braced herself to force a pathway when something zipped through her sensory field—fast, purposeful—aimed straight for Moira's handbag.
What nerve, Thea thought. Someone was trying to steal from my mother—right in front of us. She shoved Moira back. "Stay behind me."
"Careful," Moira said without giving her name away. The woman had weathered storms and kept her voice steady.
Thea couldn't tell how many attackers there were, so she decided to end it quickly: close and decisive. She charged the moving shadow. Up close she realized why the thief had been so efficient in the dark—two faint red dots blinked near the intruder's face. Infrared goggles. This wasn't a common purse-snatcher; this was high-tech theft.
Anger flared. Thea punched toward the chest. The intruder, though nursing a vision aid, caught her fist and shoved it aside—an experienced, practiced motion. Thea feigned as if that shove worked and, using its momentum, slipped a side kick into the attacker's ribs.
"Huh?" the thief hissed. They'd expected easy prey among the dignitaries—not someone who could fight back. Now they tried to step around Thea and reach the target. That was their mistake.
A few days of training with Lady Shiva had altered Thea's reflexes. How much her technique had improved in real combat was hard to quantify, but her perception filtered out the crowd's noise; she locked on to the black figure. The packed hall made wide kicks impractical, so she shifted to close-quarters work—pummeling, grabs, joint manipulations—just enough to hold the thief in place. If she could keep the intruder tangled up until the lights came back, there would be a thousand five hundred angry officers waiting. That was rehabilitation enough.
The thief understood the jeopardy too. Their plan wasn't going to be straightforward anymore, but they weren't ready to give up. With a low, professional snarl, they dropped the pretense of restraint and prepared to go all out—guns, knives, or whatever else they had hidden. Thea tightened her guard. The room was dark, the danger real, and the night had just turned very ugly.