"Sarah?" I scrambled out of the van, rushing to her wheelchair. "What are you doing? You should be in the hospital!"
"Checked myself out." She winced slightly. "Against medical advice, obviously. But when I heard what happened at the hotel, I couldn't just lie there."
"You nearly died," Dante said, his voice tight with concern.
"Nearly doesn't count." Sarah gestured to the people surrounding us—not Arrow Society operatives, I realized. Different energy. Different purpose. "Let me introduce you to some friends."
A woman stepped forward—early forties, military bearing, sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Commander Rachel Torres, former Navy SEAL," she said, extending her hand. "I've been tracking the Arrow Society for three years. Ever since they killed my team in Syria."
Next was a man in his sixties, distinguished, professorial.
"Dr. James Chen, Sarah's uncle," he said with a slight smile. "Also former CIA analyst. The Arrow Society has been on my radar for two decades."
