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. “Blindspot?”

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 blindspot. 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’s reviewing the damaged vehicle reports, annoyance simmering. The folder with the Basilan photo is still on his desk. He picks it up, studies the faint figure with the white hair again. His phone is in hand and before he even realizes, he’s scrolling to a contact marked only with a single initial. He hesitates, then dials. 

***

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 walks 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.”

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

Michelle gives her a look of concern…

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

***

The warehouse looms broken windows, graffiti tags, an old sign clinging to rusted bolts. A single lamp post flickers half a block away, leaving long, uneasy shadows. Maya cuts the engine and coasts silently to a stop, boots crunching on gravel. She kills the light, letting her eyes adjust. The night is damp and smells of oil. She circles wide, crouching to inspect fresh tire tracks pressed into the dirt. “Yep… vans were here. Not long ago.”

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

She edges toward a broken side door. Inside, faint echoes—maybe a rat scurrying—or a distant door closing. She freezes, hand brushing the MP5 sling. Listens. Silence. Through a crack, she sees 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’s 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 rolls in, shuts the doors quietly. Michelle waits, tee mug in hand. “Nothing but ghosts. But somebody swept that place too fast. And they left this.” Maya tosses 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 sets her MP5 on the bench, the faintest smirk tugging at her lip. “Let him play. Cats can stalk ghosts all night… doesn’t make them real.”

Michelle doesn’t answer—just stares at the scrap, worry flickering in her eyes as the scene fades to black.

***

City lights smear against the rain-streaked glass. Victor Kane stands by the window, a drink in hand, the ice long since melted. His phone glows in the darkness as a voice crackles faintly on the speaker.

“…Tratpur. They came through about two years back. Kids—girls mostly. 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 looks older, meaner than the man the world calls a philanthropist. 

“And Basilon?”

“Small fanatic camp there. Two days after that photo 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 kills the call with a swipe, staring at the skyline, fingers tapping against the glass. His voice is 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 glows again as he dials a new number, face set like stone. The line rings…

***

The courtyard buzzes with chatter. Spring sunlight spills over tables, but the Fang girls aren’t laughing like the others. Aiko and Liza look nervous while Michelle keeps scanning the parking lot through her sunglasses. 

“They didn’t show again this morning. No vans. No weird cars. Nothing.” Katya said with 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 sits at the end of the table, quiet, staring at the concrete. A breeze lifts her hair, but she doesn’t react. Michelle softly leaned to Trella. “You’re awfully quiet.”

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

Talia, sitting a little apart with her drone case beside her, looks 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 takes a deep breath and looks around at them, her voice 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 rattles the branches above, carrying the distant sound of danger. The courtyard feels a little too quiet, like the world is holding its breath. Michelle needed to go home today. 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 pulls over. A few thugs jump out and want to abduct Michelle.