The late afternoon sun slanted low, turning the orphanage driveway gold. The quiet hum mixed with distant traffic. Down the street, a suspicious white plumber’s van idled, hazard lights blinking lazily as if its occupants were consulting a map.

Trella crouched behind a parked sedan, eyes narrowed. “There they are. Same plates as yesterday.”

Maya swung her leg over her bike, visor snapping down with practiced ease. “Alright. I’ll shadow them once the show starts.”

Nearby, Samira turned a compact, putty-colored ball over in her palm. The sticky charge fit neatly into the pressure gun clipped at her belt. One tap to arm it, five seconds once planted. Clean, reliable.

Anya stepped out through the side gate.

Gone were the braids. Gone was the oversized hoodie. Her blonde hair flowed loose over her shoulders, catching the light. A fitted denim jacket hugged her frame, paired with a short skirt borrowed from Amelie’s stash. The transformation was startling. Less schoolgirl, more young woman out for an afternoon stroll.

Aya stared. “Holy shit. Even I’d fall for that.”

Katya allowed herself a small, approving smirk. “Classic Uzi.”

Anya adjusted the strap of her tote bag and sauntered toward the corner, hips swaying just enough to be noticed. As she passed the van, she glanced up. Big blue eyes, a flicker of a shy smile. The driver’s jaw dropped. His partner elbowed him sharply.

“Did you see that? She can’t be—”

“Focus, man. Don’t blow it.”

They were so intent on watching her that they missed Aya crossing behind them, deliberately dropping her phone and stooping to retrieve it. In the same heartbeat, Samira slid the sticky charge smoothly into the van’s exhaust.

Anya rounded the corner, brushing her hair back without looking. She trusted the timing. Five seconds later, Maya’s bike engine growled to life. The van sputtered once. Twice. Then died with a pathetic mechanical wheeze and a puff of smoke.

“Plumbing emergency, huh?” Trella muttered flatly.

From half a block away, Anya’s laughter floated back on the breeze. Outside, the two men sat in stunned silence. The passenger climbed out, lifted the hood as if answers might leap out at him. There was only heat and the smell of something burning.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I… don’t know. Fuel line? Battery?”

A quiet beep sounded near the rear, followed by a harmless pop and another cloud of smoke. The engine was finished.

“That… wasn’t mechanical.”

The other guy swore. “We’ve been had. They spotted us. We just got played by a teenager.”

“Boss is gonna love this.”

A soft giggle echoed from down the street. Anya had paused just far enough away to check her reflection in a shop window. She flicked her loose hair over her shoulder, deliberately catching their eyes again for a heartbeat before strolling on. The driver’s ears burned crimson.

The girls gathered in the common room, high-fiving quietly so the house wouldn’t echo.

“Sticky-bomb special. Flawless,” Samira whispered, pumping a fist.

“And did you see their faces?” Aya grinned. “Priceless.”

Trella allowed herself a rare smirk. “Lesson one: never underestimate a Fang.”

Michelle raised her soda can in a mock toast. “To Uzi, our junior femme fatale.”

Anya shrugged out of the borrowed jacket, tossing her hair with exaggerated confidence. “What can I say? I have range.”

Maya leaned against her helmet, already thinking ahead. “They’ll send new watchers. And now they’re spooked.”

Trella’s smirk faded, sharpening into focus. “Good. Let them sweat. But from here on, eyes open. Kane won’t underestimate us twice.”

For a moment, the room went quiet, then Samira cracked a grin. “Still worth it.”

Laughter bubbled up, brief and defiant, cracking the tension just enough to breathe.

***

The next day a white plumber truck idled across the street once again, this time a bigger one, almost smug in its bulk. Two men inside sipped cheap coffee, pretending to check a map.

Aya peered through the curtains, nose wrinkling. “Seriously? Bigger truck? That’s your master plan?”

Trella sat cross-legged on the couch, eyes never leaving her book. “Amateurs.”

Michelle tried and failed to hide her grin. “Where’d they park?”

“Front of the lamppost,” Maya said dryly. “Brilliant tactical choice.”

Aiko’s eyes lit up. “Blind spot?”

Mei-Ling was already reaching for a coil of steel rope. “Totally blind.”

Trella closed her book at last. “Don’t get caught.”

Aiko snapped a playful salute. “Sword dancers—vanish.”

Aiko and Mei-Ling slipped out the back door like wraiths. They skirted the hedges, ducked under a fence, and melted into the truck’s blind spot. The men inside never even glanced in the mirrors. Mei-Ling looped one end of the rope around the lamppost base in a single fluid move. Aiko, small and limber, rolled under the truck, her hair sweeping dust as she cinched the other end tight around the rear axle. They retreated with silent giggles, circling back to the orphanage.

“Place your bets,” Samira whispered.

“Two seconds before something snaps,” Maya said.

“Three. These guys are slow learners.”

The engine rumbled, gears clanked, and the truck lurched forward. For half a glorious second, nothing happened, then KRAANG! The rear axle screamed as the rope locked tight, wrenching metal. The truck’s tail jerked sideways, and the entire lamppost groaned, teetered, and toppled onto the truck with a magnificent CLANG! The truck slewed to a stop, rear end sagging.

“Two-for-one special!” Aya howled and collapsed onto the couch.

“It’s like a Looney Tunes episode,” Liza wheezed, “but with worse drivers!”

Even Trella smiled, shaking her head. “They’re going to need a new playbook.”

“And maybe a new insurance policy,” Michelle laughed.

Across the street, the two men scrambled out, gawking between the crippled truck and the felled lamppost. Two broken things and zero answers.

***

The door opened quietly. Kane stood with his back to the room, city lights glinting off the glass. His right-hand man entered with a folder tucked under one arm. “Reporting in. They’ve figured us out. Lopez got tailed, and two of our surveillance vehicles are wrecked.”

Kane didn’t move. “Did you just come here to inform me about your incompetence…or do you actually have something useful for me?” 

“Maybe I do.”

He stepped closer, pulled an old, weathered photograph from the folder and slid it onto Kane’s desk. A seaside village blurred in the background, but a splash of white hair peeked from under a ballcap of a young girl. “Look here. Background. White hair under the cap. Safe bet that’s one of them. Caught by some amateur photographer.”

Kane finally turned and glanced at the photo. “Where was this taken?”

“Basilan Island. Philippines. Two years ago.”

A slow smile curled across Kane’s face. “I have a contact there. Let’s see if he knows something.” He paused, eyes like steel. “You can go now.”

As his subordinate turned to leave, Kane’s voice cut like a blade. “And one more thing… If you’re going to spy on them, next time send someone who actually knows how.”

The door closed softly, leaving Kane alone with the city lights and the photograph, its tiny flash of white hair glowing like a spark waiting to ignite. He reviewed the damaged vehicle reports, annoyance simmering. The folder with the Basilan photo was still on his desk. He picked it up, and studied the faint figure with the white hair again. His phone was in hand and before he even realized, he was scrolling to a contact marked only with a single initial. He hesitated, then dialed. 

***

The team has gathered in the briefing room.

“That was a job well done,” Dawson stated.

“Engaging without engaging!” Samira beamed.

“The streets are clear for now. Looks like they don´t want to lose more vehicles.” Trella added.

“That may be true. But you know that people like Kane don't give up after such a minor setback. Stay on your toes,” Dawson said.

“We´ve found an old warehouse they were probably using. Maya?” 

Maya walked in in her overalls and helmet in her hand. 

“Same deal. No heroics, no engaging. Just eyes on. If it feels wrong, you turn around,” Michelle said.

“Relax, Cipher. I’ll be back before the cocoa gets cold.”

Michelle gave her a look of concern…

“I know. Don’t worry. I’ve danced with worse than Kane’s amateurs.” Maya then put on her helmet, flicked the bike’s light on and slipped into the dark streets.

***

The warehouse loomed with broken windows, graffiti tags and an old sign clinging to rusted bolts. A single lamp post flickered half a block away, leaving long, uneasy shadows. Maya cut the engine and coasted silently to a stop, her boots crunched on the gravel. She killed the light, let her eyes adjust. The night was damp and smelled of oil. She circled wide, crouched to inspect fresh tire tracks pressed into the dirt. “Yep… vans were here. Not long ago.”

A glint caught her eye. A ripped piece of vinyl sticker tangled in trash. She plucked it free. It was a part of the fake plumbing logo; the edges were still clean. “Sloppy, boys, sloppy.”

She edged toward a broken side door. Inside were faint echoes—maybe a rat scurrying—or a distant door closing. She froze, hand brushing the MP5 sling. Listened. Silence. Through a crack, she saw the warehouse interior empty, too neat for an abandoned place. Oil stains scrubbed clean, no tools, no crates, just an expanse of dust and moonlight. It had been staged to look forgotten. “Cute. Clean the stage, leave the curtain open… real subtle. Well, got what I came for, time to get out of here.”

***

Maya rolled in, shut the doors quietly. Michelle was waiting with a tea mug in her hand. “Nothing but ghosts. But somebody swept that place too fast. And they left this.” Maya tossed the vinyl scrap to her.

Michelle looked at it. “Plumbing logo. Fresh tear. They’re cleaning house.” 

“Either they got spooked easy, or they wanted me to see how careful they can be.”

“Kane’s changing tactics. He knows we’re watching.”

Maya set her MP5 on the bench, the faintest smirk tugged at her lip. “Let him play. Cats can stalk ghosts all night… doesn’t make them real.”

Michelle didn’t answer, just stared at the scrap, worry flickered in her eyes.

***

City lights smeared against the rain-streaked glass. Victor Kane stood by the window, a drink in hand, the ice long since melted. His phone glowed in the darkness as a voice crackled faintly on the speaker.

“…Tratpur. They came through about two years back. Mostly kids—girls. Didn’t mix with the locals. Carried iron like seasoned enforcers. Beat a few men half to death when someone got curious. Then they were gone. Ghosts.”

Kane looked concerned. His reflection in the glass looked older, meaner than the man the world calls a philanthropist. 

“And Basilan?”

“Small fanatic camp there. Two days after that photo was taken, it got wiped out. Clean. No chatter on who. Syndicates are tight-lipped. Nobody’s talking.”

“Ghosts don’t leave footprints… but they left bodies.”

“You think these kids are killers?”

“I don’t think. I know they’re something. Maya Cortez alone couldn’t have done it. Not that clean.”

“Then you’re poking at something dangerous, Victor. Tratpur eats men alive.”

Kane killed the call with a swipe, staring at the skyline, fingers tapping against the glass. His voice was a quiet growl meant only for himself. 

If ghosts have come back to my city… I’ll drag them into the light.

The screen of his phone glowed again as he dialed a new number, face set like stone. The line ringed…

***

The courtyard buzzed with chatter. Spring sunlight spilled over tables, but the Fang girls weren’t laughing like the others. Aiko and Liza looked nervous while Michelle kept scanning the parking lot through her sunglasses. 

“They didn’t show again this morning. No vans. No weird cars. Nothing.” Katya said in a low voice.

“Yeah, because Maya scared ‘em off. Or maybe they’re just licking their wounds.” Aya stated.

“Or maybe they’re doing something we can’t see.” Mei-Ling added. “That’s worse.”

Trella sat at the end of the table, quiet, staring at the concrete. A breeze lifted her hair, but she didn't react. Michelle softly leaned to Trella. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“This is the part I hate. Waiting. Not knowing.”

Talia, who was sitting a little apart, looked up from a textbook. “Kane’s not stupid. If he pulled his people back, it’s not because he’s giving up. It means he’s planning.”

Amelie tried to lift the mood. “Yay… comforting as always, Fixer.“

“Better to be ready than blindsided,” she replied.

Michelle took a deep breath and looked around at them, her voice was calm but steady. “Then we watch. Quietly. No mistakes. No showing off. If they’re regrouping, the worst thing we can do is underestimate them.”

A gust rattled the branches above, carrying the distant sound of danger. The courtyard felt a little too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. Michelle needed to go home that day. She said goodbye to the others and went alone. But… one of Kane´s street gang thought it would be a good idea to make a name for themselves and tried to abduct Michelle on her way home.  A van pulled over. A few thugs jumped out and wanted to abduct Michelle.