The warehouse's main floor had been cleared of equipment, leaving a wide open space with thick training mats spread across the concrete. Selina stood at the edge of the makeshift training area, her heart hammering against her ribs as 47 moved to the center. He'd changed out of his tactical gear into simple bck workout clothes, but even without the cape and cowl, his presence filled the space.

  "Show me what you can do, Selina," he said, settling into a rexed stance.

  Selina rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the nervous energy. She'd been in plenty of street fights over the years, had learned to use her speed and desperation to her advantage. This couldn't be that different, right?

  She lunged forward with a straight punch aimed at his chest, putting all her weight behind it. His hand came up almost zily, deflecting her fist to the side and leaving her off-bance.

  *Okay, try something else.*

  Selina pivoted, whipping her leg around in a kick toward his ribs. Again, his arm moved to intercept, catching her shin and pushing her leg down before she could generate any real power.

  Frustration fred in her chest. She dropped low, trying to sweep his legs, but he simply stepped over her outstretched foot like he'd seen it coming from a mile away.

  *Fine. Get in close.*

  Selina rushed him, trying to wrap her arms around his waist in a tackle. For a brief moment, she thought she had him—her arms closed around his torso—but then the world spun, and she found herself flying through the air. She hit the mat hard, the impact driving the breath from her lungs.

  She rolled to her feet immediately, the way the streets had taught her. Never stay down. Never show weakness.

  "This isn't fair!" she panted, gring at him as she charged again. "I can't beat you!"

  "Of course you can't," 47 said calmly, catching her shoulders and using her own momentum to hip-toss her back onto the mats. "I just want to see what you've got."

  *What I've got? I've got nothing. I've got—*

  The thought died as anger surged through her. Selina came up swinging, but this time she didn't telegraph it. Instead of another wild charge, she feinted left and threw a quick jab at his sor plexus while he was expecting her to go for his face.

  Her knuckles connected with solid muscle, and 47 actually took half a step back.

  "Did you even feel that?" she asked, breathing hard as she flexed her stinging fingers.

  "No," 47 said matter-of-factly. "But it was still a good punch. You've got fighting spirit in you."

  Selina felt a mix of frustration and pride wash through her. She'd finally managed to nd something, even if it hadn't fazed him.

  "So are you going to train me?" The question came out more breathless than she'd intended, but she didn't care. This was her chance.

  47 studied her for a long moment, taking in her stance, the way she kept her weight on the balls of her feet even while they talked. "Yeah," he said finally. "You've got potential."

  ---

  The diner carried the scent of bacon and coffee as 47 and Selina settled into a worn booth at Scarface & Wesker's. The pce had seen better decades—its red vinyl seats were cracked and patched with duct tape—but it was clean, and the smell of food made 47's stomach remind him he hadn't eaten since the night before.

  The waitress, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a practiced smile, set their ptes down with the efficient movements of someone who'd been doing this job for years. 47's omelet was perfectly cooked, the grits creamy and seasoned just right. Across from him, Selina attacked her waffle with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't had a proper breakfast in too long.

  "This is good," she said around a mouthful of waffle and sausage. "Way better than the convenience store stuff I usually grab."

  47 nodded, but his mind was already on the reason they were here. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the photo of Tammy, studying her bright smile one more time before fgging down their waitress.

  "Excuse me," he said as she approached their table. "I've been looking for my daughter." He held up the picture, watching the woman's expression carefully. "Have you seen her? She's been missing for quite a while."

  The waitress took the photo, her brow furrowing as she studied Tammy's face. "You know, I think I have seen her, but let me go ask the owner. He's got a better memory for faces than I do."

  She disappeared toward the back of the restaurant, and 47 saw Selina tense slightly across from him. They'd practiced this story at their base, after the brief sparring session.

  A few minutes ter, a small, nervous-looking man in his forties emerged from the kitchen, adjusting his wire-rimmed gsses as he wiped flour-dusted hands on his apron. His thinning brown hair was combed carefully over his balding scalp, and he moved with the hesitant steps of someone who wasn't entirely comfortable with confrontation.

  "I'm, uh, I'm Arnold Wesker," he said, his voice quiet and apologetic. "Me and my business partner, we own this pce. Rita says you're looking for someone?"

  47 stood and offered his hand, noting how Wesker's grip was weak and damp with nervous sweat. "John," he said, giving the false name they'd agreed on. "This is my daughter." He gestured toward Selina, who managed a worried smile that didn't require much acting. "We're trying to find her sister."

  He handed Wesker the photograph, watching as the small man's eyes widened slightly behind his gsses.

  "Oh, oh yes," Wesker stammered, nodding rapidly. "Yeah, I think I saw her several months ago. She was talking to this guy and his—I guess his girlfriend. Real pretty blonde, looked like she was in her twenties or so."

  47 kept his expression neutral, but internally he felt the familiar focus that came with a solid lead. "What happened? Do you remember anything else about them?"

  Wesker fidgeted with the photo, his nervous energy evident. "They were talking for a while, real quiet-like. I thought maybe they were her parents or something—the way they were leaning in, you know? Then she seemed to get upset about something, but then all of a sudden they paid the bill and left together. That's the st time I seen her. Has to be several months ago now." His voice grew even quieter. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry I can't tell you more."

  47 felt the weight of the information settle in his chest. The timeline matched what they knew, and now they had confirmation that Tammy had been with two people—not just the man they'd seen on the video feed, but also a blonde woman.

  "I appreciate the information," he said, offering Wesker another handshake. "Thank you for taking the time."

  As they continued eating their breakfast, Selina kept her voice low. "So that was her. She was really here."

  47 nodded, cutting into his omelet while his mind processed the implications. "It's been months, but at least we know something concrete happened here. The people Wesker described—that has to be our starting point."

  He could see the mix of hope and worry in Selina's eyes. They had their first real lead, but it also confirmed that Tammy had been taken by people who were skilled at manipution. People who could make a frightened girl trust them enough to leave with them voluntarily.