Donatello pointed to a digital camera on the bedside table, its casing showing clear signs of impact: "This is her equipment. The photos inside... she captured some things. They feel very important, and very dangerous."
Hawk walked over, his gaze falling on April O'Neil's face.
Just then, as if sensing the gaze, April's thick eyelashes fluttered a few times, a vague groan escaped her throat, and she slowly opened her eyes.
Her brown eyes were initially filled with confusion and haziness, her pupils slightly unfocused in the dim light.
She instinctively tried to raise a hand to rub her eyes but pulled at some discomfort in her body, hissing in pain.
Her gaze swept blankly across the unfamiliar, graffiti-covered concrete ceiling and massive pipes, finally settling on Hawk's face, close at hand, as he looked down at her.
The confusion quickly receded, replaced by professional sharpness and incredible shock.
"You... Hawk Lane?!" April's voice was hoarse from just waking up, yet exceptionally clear, "Lane Group's... Hawk Lane?!"
She struggled to sit up, her movements aggravating a possible injury, causing another wince, but her gaze was fixed on Hawk's face like nails, filled with investigative curiosity.
Emily gasped softly beside her, instinctively shrinking further behind Hawk.
The four turtle-men exchanged glances. Raphael grunted, arms crossed, while Michelangelo curiously peered forward.
"It's me." Hawk's expression was calm, he didn't deny it. As a reporter, it would be absurd if she didn't recognize him.
"Ms. O'Neil? How are you feeling?"
However, April had clearly temporarily pushed her physical discomfort to the back of her mind.
Her reporter's instinct instantly overwhelmed fear and pain.
She ignored Hawk's question, her brown eyes scanning like searchlights over the curvaceous woman behind Hawk—huh, Columbia's cheerleader captain, Emily Chen, rumored to be involved with Hawk Lane?
Then she sharply turned to the four large, cloaked humanoid turtles.
"My God... you... you really exist?!" she whispered, her face a mix of shock, excitement, and a fervent sense of "a major exclusive is right here!" "Urban legends... city guardians... My God! Am I dreaming?!"
Immediately after, her gaze snapped back to Hawk, questions firing at him like a machine gun, her thoughts jumping bewilderingly:
"Mr. Hawk Lane! Why are you with them? Where is this? A sewer base? What is your relationship with them? Are you their surface contact? Or... wait!"
She suddenly remembered what happened before she passed out, her pupils constricting, her tone becoming urgent, "The Foot Clan! And the Hand! They... they had a massive transaction in the dock area! I saw strange symbols on the boxes they were moving! Like some kind of biochemical insignia! I photographed it! My camera..."
She struggled again to reach for her camera, completely disregarding her physical condition, her occupational disease fully flaring up.
"Ms. O'Neil!" Hawk's voice deepened slightly, carrying an undeniable authority that instantly made the chattering April pause.
He firmly pressed her shoulders, his eyes fixed on hers, "Your camera is safe. But you need to calm down now."
Hawk leaned slightly closer, narrowing the distance between them.
His voice was not loud, but it clearly reached April's ears:
"You're injured. Your 'exclusive story' is certainly important, but you first need to ensure your own safety. What you photographed has put you in extreme danger. At least two of New York's largest underground gangs want you dead."
April was awed by the calmness in his eyes and the gravity in his words, her rapid-fire questions caught in her throat.
She remembered the gun barrel and the menacing faces she saw before losing consciousness, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine.
"As for why I'm here?" Hawk's gaze swept over the silent Leonardo and Donatello beside him, with a hint of amusement, "Perhaps you could understand it as... fate's arrangement, or that certain 'guardians' believe I can provide some necessary assistance." His tone was meaningful, "Such as ensuring a reporter with dangerous intelligence, before unearthing a greater truth, isn't silenced. And how to properly handle those overly sensitive photos and information."
Hawk's voice was calm, but April keenly caught the power and control embedded within it.
This was no ordinary playboy.
The Hawk Lane before her seemed to have a huge, ineffable difference from the image of the young, handsome heir she knew from financial magazines, and the playboy from entertainment headlines.
Why would the young master of Lane Group be mixed up with these turtle-men?
His nonchalant tone regarding the gang threat...
His matter-of-fact tone when mentioning "handling sensitive information"...
And the look in his eyes now as he gazed at her, a kind of... knowing insight into secrets?
Countless question marks exploded in April's mind, surging more powerfully than the simple journalistic excitement before.
Her keen intuition as an excellent reporter told her that she might have accidentally stumbled into a vortex far larger, more secretive, and more dangerous than the Foot Clan's transaction.
And one of the key figures in this vortex was the Hawk Lane before her, who should have been chatting and laughing at Manhattan's top social events.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to suppress her reporter's urge to dig deeper, trying to regain some professional composure, but her voice still carried a trace of imperceptible excitement and inquiry: "Then, Mr. Lane, how do you plan to help me?"
Hawk looked at the flickering, forcibly suppressed yet still ardent professional light in April's eyes, gently released her shoulder, and stood up straight.