"Thea, where are you? What happened?"
Oliver Queen's voice echoed through the mansion as he stepped inside, his anxiety palpable. He had rushed home as soon as he received a cryptic text from his sister, Thea.
Hearing the urgency in his voice, Moira Queen emerged swiftly from the parlor. Concern etched on her face, she asked, "Oliver, what's wrong? What happened?"
Oliver, who had been avoiding direct conversations with his mother for some time due to her history of keeping critical secrets, hesitated for a moment. But remembering the contents of Thea's message, he sighed and said, "Thea texted me, saying something had happened at home. I came straight here."
Moira, taken aback, raised her hand in a reassuring yet tense gesture. "Nothing has happened here," she replied, her voice tinged with confusion. "I've been chatting with a friend, and Thea isn't even home. Why would she say something like that?"
Oliver paused, his mind racing. "Why would she..." His voice trailed off as realization dawned.
"This was Thea's plan," he murmured, almost to himself. "She wanted us to sit down and talk—she must have sensed the tension between us."
Moira's expression turned serious as she asked, "What did you say to Thea? Did you tell her the truth about... her father?"
Oliver shook his head firmly. "Of course not. I've always tried to protect her. But now, I think I've been going about it the wrong way."
For days, Oliver had been reflecting on Thea's words: lies only serve as temporary shields, but when exposed, they can shatter relationships irreparably.
He turned to his mother, his tone heavy with concern. "Mother, have you ever considered telling Thea the truth? About everything?"
Moira's face hardened. "No. Absolutely not. Thea must never know that her father is..." She faltered but didn't finish the sentence.
Before the conversation could continue, a deep male voice called out from the parlor, interrupting them. "Mrs. Queen, is everything alright?"
Both Oliver and Moira turned toward the source of the voice. Moira's expression softened instantly as she addressed the man, her demeanor shifting into polite warmth. "It's nothing, Mr. Wilson. My son just came to visit."
At the mention of the name, Oliver stiffened, his instincts on high alert. Moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a perfectly tailored suit stepped into view. His presence exuded authority and menace. But what truly set Oliver on edge was the man's right eye—an eye he knew all too well.
It was Slade Wilson.
Moira, oblivious to Oliver's reaction, gestured warmly toward the man. "Oliver, this is Mr. Slade Wilson. He's been a tremendous supporter of my campaign."
Oliver masked his shock, forcing his face into a neutral expression as he extended his hand to Slade. Their handshake was brief, their grip firm. "What are you doing here?" Oliver asked, his tone sharp and unyielding.
The question was abrupt, bordering on impolite, and Moira frowned at her son's demeanor. "Oliver," she admonished, "Mr. Wilson has been instrumental in my campaign's success."
Slade gave a small, measured smile, his gaze locking onto Oliver's. "It's nothing, really," he said smoothly. "Star City needs a strong, business-minded leader like your mother. We were just discussing how to balance the city's increasing demand for resources with its growing workforce."
Moira beamed at Slade's praise. "Thanks to Mr. Wilson's investments, my initiatives have gained significant public support."
Slade responded with a deliberate nod, his tone turning ominous as he said, "We share a connection, Mrs. Queen. A bond forged through loss. We've both experienced the pain of losing loved ones, and that pain gives us strength. It makes us fearless."
Moira seemed moved by his words, her expression softening as though comforted. But Oliver knew better. The weight of Slade's words carried a veiled threat, one that only he could understand.
Slade Wilson wasn't here by chance. He never was.
Oliver knew deep in his heart that, even after five long years, Slade Wilson had not forgotten Shado. Nor had he forgiven himself—or Oliver. The pain of that loss and betrayal had consumed Slade, fueling his vow to destroy everything Oliver held dear, including the people he loved most.
Slade's sudden appearance in Star City brought clarity to every mystery. The spread of Mirakuru, the recent chaos in the city—all of it pointed back to him. Slade wasn't just a shadow of Oliver's past; he was the storm threatening his present.
Now, Slade sat calmly on the sofa in the Queen mansion's living room, discussing investment strategies with Moira Queen. His demeanor was polished, but Oliver could feel the tension beneath the surface. As much as he wanted to confront Slade, he knew he couldn't do it here—not in front of his mother. Slade wasn't just a formidable adversary; he was Deathstroke. Even with Oliver's skill set, he stood little chance in a direct confrontation, especially with Moira's safety at risk.
Desperate for a way out, Oliver pulled out his phone and dialed Felicity Smoak's number. If anyone could interpret a subtle cry for help, it was her. Felicity's brilliance and resourcefulness were his best shot at diffusing the situation.
The phone rang.
"Beep… beep… beep…"
No answer.
At the Arrow base, Felicity was unpacking takeout with Diggle, while Diana and Sara trained Roy in combat. The ringing phone sat on the table, unnoticed.
"Hey!" Felicity called out, exasperated. "Is anyone going to answer my phone, or is it just going to ring forever?"
Sara smirked. "It's your phone, Felicity. You pick it up."
Diana shrugged, adding with mock innocence, "I would, but I don't know how to use your fancy gadget."
Felicity rolled her eyes, setting her food down and snatching up the phone. "You know, no matter where I go, I'm everyone's lifeline. Hello? Oliver? What's going on?"
She waited for a response, but all she could hear were muffled voices. "Oliver? Are you there? Say something! Hello?" After a few more seconds of silence, she huffed. "Great, must've been a butt dial. Classic Oliver." And with that, she hung up.
Back at the mansion, Oliver stared at his phone in disbelief. Seriously, Felicity? Where's your genius now? He sighed, fighting the urge to yell. Slade glanced at him briefly, his expression unreadable. Oliver had to act fast.
Realizing Felicity wouldn't connect the dots, Oliver turned to Sara Lance. She knew Slade, knew his voice, and would recognize the danger immediately. He dialed her number, determined to convey his predicament.
At the base, Sara's phone rang just as she took a bite of her food. She glanced at Roy, gesturing toward the phone. "Hey, kid. Show me what you've got. Answer it."
Roy, grumbling under his breath, set his plate aside and picked up the phone. "It's Oliver," he muttered. "What's he want now? Hey, man. What's up? We're just digging into some takeout. Want us to save you some? Hello? Oliver?"
Like before, only muffled voices came through. Roy frowned, looking at the group. "Weird. It's just background noise."
"Probably another butt dial," Felicity quipped with a smirk. "Oliver's got a habit."
Satisfied with the explanation, Roy shrugged and hung up.
At the mansion, Oliver let out a frustrated sigh. He had counted on Sara to pick up on the urgency of his call. This is bad. Really bad. He glanced at Slade, who was now smiling faintly, as if savoring Oliver's growing unease.
Oliver clenched his jaw. He was running out of options, and the stakes were getting higher by the second.
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