Soft Monday morning light settled over the quiet streets of Odenton. Everything felt still, peaceful, almost suspended in time. The view drifts toward a single small house. Half-closed blinds glowing faintly as the sun creeps in. The alarm clock buzzes.

A teenage hand—Michelle’s—fumbled across the nightstand until it finally hit the button. She lifted her head, hair messy, eyes barely open. With the sluggish determination of someone who had done this too many times, she stumbled out of bed. She brushes her teeth, combs her hair and gets changed for school. Downstairs in the kitchen she quickly grabs a fresh toast.

Spring break is over… I wish it wouldn't end. This was the best one ever! I´ve got to spend a lot of time with my friends doing really fun stuff, then the boot camp - a fantastic experience! Now it feels more like a dream… And then dad drops the bomb announcing that Victor Kane - the guy who ordered the attack on the orphanage a few weeks ago, is in jail!

Michelle walked to school this time.

At the familiar intersection, she slowed to a stop, just like she had weeks ago. Her gaze drifted instinctively toward the orphanage. The girls were already there, walking toward her.

Well… I wonder how long the normalcy will last this time.

The school hallway buzzed with life. Trella leaned against a locker, casually flipping through an advanced physics book, shotgun-calloused fingers smudging the corners of the pages. Aya stood beside her, pale eyes half-lidded. She didn’t look tired, just bored. Liza adjusted her bag, hair still slightly static-frizzed, likely from some experiment gone wrong. Michelle approached, hissing under her breath. “Would you please act normal for, like, one day? Maybe two? Pretend spring break was boring?”

Trella didn’t even look up. “Sure. Spring break was boring.”

A teacher passed by and pinned a stack of brightly colored flyers to the bulletin board.

Midterms approaching! Major project deadlines posted!

The heading was underlined three times. Amelie spotted it first. “Oh, wunderbar! Back to reality.”

Liza stopped short, arms full of folders borrowed for her own experiments, and groaned dramatically. “Projects already? I haven’t even cleaned out my backpack from last semester!”

Talia sauntered past, a drone part sticking out of her bag. “Relax. Compared to soldiers trying to outmarch us, a chemistry project is nothing.”

Michelle shot her a look. “Says the one who can build a surveillance rig out of duct tape and an alarm clock.”

The bell shrieked, echoing down the hallway. Trella snapped her locker shut and shouldered her books. “Come on, Fangs. Vacation’s over. Let’s survive this… and the math exam.”

The group groaned in unison as they disappeared into the tide of students.

***

The orphanage in the early evening. The front door creaked open. Boots thudded against hardwood. The girls, sprawled across couches and beanbags, looked up as Agent Williams and Joseph Dawson stepped inside. They both looked worn from travel. Williams didn’t waste time. “Girls, I’ve got some bad news… and some worse news.”

The chatter died instantly. Even Aya froze mid-sip of her smoothie. Trella sat up. “What’s the bad news?”

“Victor Kane walked,” Williams said grimly. “Lawyers tore the case apart. No evidence sticking. No interrogation. Nothing. He’s free.”

Aya’s fists clenched. “Great! Now I can kill him!”

“He sent those goons,” Amelie said quietly, anger vibrating beneath her voice. “Ten of them in body bags wasn’t enough for him?”

“Tell us where he is,” Katya added icily. “We’ll fix it.”

Dawson raised a hand.

“That’s where the worse news comes in.”

Williams sighed. “Orders from the very top - the CIA brass. You stay put. No missions. No freelance justice.”

The room erupted in protests, groans and angry mutters.

“We can’t just sit on our hands while he rebuilds,” Trella snapped.

“I know,” Dawson said calmly. “But right now, the eyes of half the world are on him. You move, and every spook and watchdog from here to Brussels knows the Black Fang exists. We can’t risk that.”

Michelle spoke quietly, but firmly. “He’ll think he’s untouchable.”

Dawson looked around at their tense faces. “He’s not untouchable. Just… not today. We’ll watch. We’ll be ready.”

Aya swallowed hard. Amelie kicked a beanbag across the room. Trella’s hands trembled before she shoved them into her hoodie pockets.

“I hate it as much as you do,” Williams said more softly. “But orders are orders.”

“For now,” Liza muttered.

The silence that followed was thick with frustration and something simmering underneath. The girls drifted off in pairs and trios. Aya and Amelie whispered strategy. Liza and Samira joked darkly to mask their anger. Trella lingered. Dawson caught her eye and nodded toward the porch. Outside, the spring night was cool and still. The porch light pooled around them.

“You’re holding it together better than the others,” Dawson said quietly.

“Not really,” Trella replied. “I just hide it better.”

“They watch you. If you crack, they’ll think it’s hopeless.”

“He hurt us, Paps,” she said. “And he’s still out there.”

“I know,” Dawson replied, gazing into the dark yard. “And someday, we’ll make it right. But there’s a difference between vengeance and victory.”

Trella’s shoulders sagged. “Feels the same when you’re angry.”

“That’s why you’ve got me,” Dawson said with a soft grin. “Get some rest. We’ll need clear heads.”

She nodded and slipped back inside, leaving him alone with the crickets and the weight of what was coming.

***

The Tuesday afternoon bell clanged. The halls felt heavier than usual. Even Aya didn’t have the energy to terrorize the vending machine.

“You guys are acting like we’re marching to the gallows,” Michelle said, swinging her backpack.

“Feels like it,” Katya replied flatly.

In the parking lot, Trella stopped short. A white plumber’s van idled by the curb. No logo, just a muddy bumper. Haven’t I seen that before?

“What?” Amelie nudged her. “You see a ghost?”

“Maybe,” she said slowly. “That van’s been around a lot lately.”

Aya squinted. “Eh. Plumbers make the rounds. Pipes leak. Toilets explode…”

But even she glanced back twice. Michelle laughed, but Trella only half-smiled. She could shake Kane from her mind… but not that van.

The girls came back to the orphanage. The evening felt normal. But for the Black Fang, normal was never just normal. The dining room was alive with the clatter of forks and the low hum of chatter. Williams and Dawson sat at the far end, coffee mugs in hand, while Milena ladled out dinner.

“So… random plumber van following us, anyone else notice?” Aya said through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah,” Michelle said. “Same one yesterday. Maybe I’m paranoid, but…”

“You’re not,” Trella said quietly.

Dawson raised an eyebrow. “Coincidences happen. Maintenance trucks, delivery vans—half the world drives white.”

“Still felt off,” Talia muttered.

“You’re stir-crazy after spring break,” Williams said. “A van isn’t a death squad.”

Milena’s eyes flicked between them. “Maybe it’s nothing… but keep your eyes open.”

A moment’s silence passed before Samira grinned. “Fine. But if a guy with a fake mustache jumps out, dibs on the first punch.”

Laughter broke the tension. But Michelle caught Milena’s look to Dawson. They had noticed.

***

The city sprawled below like a circuit board of neon and shadows. From the penthouse windows of the glass tower, Victor Kane stood perfectly still, his jacket draped loosely over his shoulders. A soft knock broke the silence. Victor Kane stood still, swirling untouched scotch. “Enter.”

His right-hand man delivered the folder. “Surveillance report.”

He set the folder on the marble desk. Kane turned slowly, took it, and flipped through the glossy photos from a white plumbing van across from St. Helena, grainy long-lens shots of girls laughing outside a school entrance, a black motorcycle under a carport.

“We’ve ID’d three for sure. Maya Cortez, our former employee. Talia Graves. Vanished two years ago without trace, now reappears here. And Michelle Williams. Daughter of a CIA senior officer.”

“And the others?”

“Nothing. No birth records, no passports, no social security numbers. Like they never existed.”

Kane closed the folder, fingers tapping lightly against the cardboard. “Impossible. Everyone leaves a trail.”

“All we know is that all their identities are fake.”

Kane doesn't look pleased at all. He looked back at the photos. “The crew we lost… Ten men. Maya alone couldn’t have done it. But someone did. And a few weeks earlier, our first team got beaten half to death trying to snatch Morgan. Who are these girls, and why is the CIA guarding them?”

The man stayed silent, watching Kane pace toward the window.

“The house is visited by agents every day. That tells us two things. One, headquarters cares. Two, they’re hiding something worth protecting.”

He stared out over the glittering skyline, voice calm but edged. 

“No more blunt force,” Kane said calmly. “ Not yet. We watch. We learn. When they slip, we’ll be ready. Go.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Kane alone with the city lights and the quiet promise of future payback.

***

The living room of St. Helena was dim except for the warm glow of a single lamp and the faint flicker of a muted TV. Outside, another unfamiliar sedan cruised slowly past the orphanage’s gate before disappearing into the night. The sound of its engine faded, leaving only the ticking of the clock on the wall. 

Aya slammed her fist down. “Damn it! They’re stalking us! I want to go out there and punch them dead!”

Trella folded her arms, her voice was low but tight. “I know… I want to do something too. But we’re prohibited from taking any action.”

“Yeah, and the CIA doesn’t do anything either!” Aya snapped looking at Williams. “What’s the deal good for if we can’t even defend ourselves?!” 

“I don’t like it either.” Williams admitted. “And something’s going on higher up too. The case has been put on hold,” 

“What? Why?!”

Michelle looked up. “I have an idea.”

Aya narrowed her eyes. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Let’s turn the game around.” Michelle set her pen down deliberately, leaning forward. “We can’t move against them directly, but we can give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“What are you thinking, kiddo?” Williams frowned.

Michelle’s grin sharpened, it was almost predatory. “We investigate. Fang style.”

The girls exchanged glances. None of them had ever seen Michelle look quite like this.

“Here’s what we do: we deploy Rider.”

Maya, lounging in the armchair with her boots kicked up, sat up straight. “Me? What do you want me to do?”

“Observe. If you see one of the suspicious cars, go after them. Don’t engage, just follow. Let’s see where they lead us and how they react.”

Williams exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between a warning and a sigh. “That’s some pretty thin ice.”

Michelle tilted her head, her smile widening into something almost unsettling. “No, it isn’t. We are not under housearrest. She’ll just be out for a joyride. She’s not doing anything wrong… And she’s the only one not tied up with school or anything else, so she can go at any time of the day.”

Maya arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, but they probably know it’s me.”

Michelle didn’t even flinch. “I’m counting on it.”

The vicious little curve of her smile sent a shiver down even Trella’s spine. For a moment, everyone was reminded that while Michelle wasn’t a Fang, she’d grown up in a world of intelligence work and tonight, she was very much her father’s daughter.

***

The front door swung open and the girls spilled into the common room, still half in their school blazers and half in after-school chaos. Maya was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, helmet dangling from one hand. “Yup. You were right. And I followed them, just like you asked. They definitely don’t drive like plumbers.”

Michelle straightened, her bag sliding off her shoulder. “Where’d they lead you?”

“Well… uhm… I kinda lost them.”

Aya dropped her backpack with a heavy thud, eyes wide. “You?! Our best driver?! On a motorcycle? Lost a big ass van?!”

“They almost drove me into an accident,” Maya scowled. “Blew through a red light and nearly turned me into a Kenworth hood ornament. But I think I gave ’em a good scare. The street’s been clean ever since.”

Michelle exhaled, a flicker of relief crossing her face. “Good job. Keep patrolling, Maya. And stay safe. Sooner or later, they’ll slip up. Just don’t let them lure you into a trap or an ambush. Have your MP5 with you… but don’t use it unless they shoot first.” 

She turned to the rest of the room, her tone shifting, sharper now. “And as for school… Samira, I think we could use one of your sticky bombs.”

Samira’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. “Do you want to blow them up?!”

“Only their motor. Can you tweak a small one so we can slip it into the exhaust and knock out their engine?”

Samira chewed her lip, already mentally assembling parts. “I guess so. But how do you want to plant it without them noticing?”

Michelle’s gaze flicked to Anya. “We use a distraction. Uzi… You’re up. Use your ’other’ weapon.”

Anya’s grin was pure trouble. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean…”

The room was dead silent for a beat.

Katya let out a dry, knowing sigh. “Of course. Send in the baby Black Widow.”

Anya flashed a wicked grin, already fishing a compact mirror from her bag. “Please. They’re goons. Half a dab of lip gloss and a hair toss, and they’ll forget how to breathe.”

Amelie groaned but couldn’t hide her amusement. “Just don’t make us look like amateurs.”

Aya snorted, folding her arms.  “Make sure they’re still conscious long enough to drive into Samira’s little surprise.”

Michelle’s eyes narrowed just slightly, that predatory spark returning. “Exactly. We don’t need a fight. Just a distraction. Anya, you don’t need to overplay it, just… walk by, smile, and let them think they’re in control for three seconds.”

Talia shook her head slowly, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “This feels dirty. I like it.”

The mood in the room shifted. Grim tension tempered by a flicker of dark amusement. For a moment, the stress of the past days lifted; they were hunters again, about to turn the tables.