In the heart of Gotham's upscale shopping district, Haino practically bounced through the glass doors of the Dior boutique, dragging Downton behind her like an overexcited tour guide.
The store was empty—cleared out the moment police spotted them approaching. But Haino didn't seem to care. In an instant, she dropped her hostage act and morphed into a chirpy, overzealous personal shopper, leading Downton straight to the coat section.
Within minutes, she'd selected an outfit, then seized his arm with both hands.
"This one's perfect!" she declared. "Come on, let's change!"
"We?" Downton raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. He'd been planning to cut her loose. She'd done everything he asked—no screaming, no stalling—and even handed over three grand in crisp bills. Enough for a decent hotel and maybe a one-way ticket out of Gotham.
He'd never meant to keep her longer than necessary. She wasn't a threat—just a means to an end. And judging by the way she clung to him now, she didn't seem to realize she was free.
But before he could gently disentangle himself, Haino yanked him toward the dressing rooms.
"Of course it's 'we'!" she hissed, lowering her voice dramatically. "You're a wanted robber, Downton! If you go in there alone, SWAT'll storm the place thinking you're making a move—or worse, taking a hostage inside! Do you want to get shot?"
She shoved the hangers into his chest. "Change into this first. Then we're hitting Louis Vuitton—I need a new look to match yours!"
Before he could protest, she'd dragged him into a spacious fitting room and dropped to her knees in front of him, eyes wide with manic glee.
Outside, on the sidewalk cordoned off by police tape, Mayor Don Mitchell Jr. stared at the boutique's glass façade, slack-jawed.
"They just… walked in and started shopping?" he muttered, turning to Commissioner Gordon with a look of utter disbelief.
Gordon kept his expression neutral, though his jaw tightened.
"Gordon," Mitchell continued, voice low but edged with panic, "letting a kidnapper hold Congressman Lawrence's daughter hostage for over an hour is already a PR nightmare for the GCPD—and City Hall. But this?" He gestured helplessly at the boutique. "They're laughing! Trying on coats! The news vans are lined up like it's Fashion Week!"
He ran a hand over his face. "Tomorrow's headlines will scream that Gotham's so broken, a hostage and her captor are out buying matching outfits while the police stand by and watch. And God help us if they imply something… romantic."
He paused, then added grimly, "Her mother's the Deputy Secretary of Defense, Gordon. If that girl gets so much as a bruise, Washington will have our heads."
"I know," Gordon said quietly. "But Downton didn't sneak her away. He snatched Miss Lawrence in broad daylight, fired warning shots into the air, and caused a ten-block traffic jam getting here. Half the paparazzi in Gotham recognized her car—she's got that charity gala next week. The press knew before we did."
Mitchell exhaled sharply, glancing toward the approaching cameras. He straightened his tie, forcing his features into a mask of grim resolve.
Then, loud enough for the microphones to catch, he declared:
"No matter the cost—no matter the method—I will not rest until Miss Lawrence is safely returned to her family. Gotham is better than this. A nineteen-year-old girl shouldn't have to fear walking down our streets."
Hearing Mayor Mitchell's righteous voice on television, the bald shopkeeper at the gun shop couldn't help but spit.
"Mitchell's mayoral term probably won't last long," he muttered. "Ever since he took office, he's lost all that campaign eloquence. Maybe he can't afford his old team anymore?
All he does now is repeat the same boring platitudes. If he doesn't step down soon, who will? I sure as hell won't vote for him again."
He paused, then added under his breath, "But this Downton…"
The shopkeeper remembered the black suit—riddled with bullet holes—that Downton had brought in. It had been spotless when it first appeared on his counter.
Combined with the gunshots and explosions near the Iceberg Lounge not long ago…
Could this kid have actually caused trouble at the Iceberg Club?
And if that were true—if he'd survived and gone on to kidnap the senator's daughter—then…
The bald man suddenly felt lost. Had he—the living father—really demoted his own son from boss to employee?
Meanwhile, at the Iceberg Lounge, Selina Kyle watched the televised farce and let out a soft chuckle.
"He just killed Sabatino in front of Falcone," she said, "and then immediately kidnapped the daughter of a Gotham senator and the Deputy Secretary of Defense."
She turned to Liv, her smirk fading slightly as she caught the look in her friend's eyes—deep, unguarded admiration.
Seeing the hunger in Liv's gaze as she watched footage of Downton, Selina's chest tightened with jealousy. She leaned in and wrapped an arm tightly around Liv's waist.
"What? You can be captivated by a man too?" she teased, voice laced with mock surprise.
Liv didn't look away from the screen. "What a beautiful talent! The ability to laugh in the face of death—why shouldn't I be captivated?
So what if he killed Sabatino? So what if he kidnapped the senator's daughter? After this ghost keeps returning from the dead, again and again… is there anything he can't do?"
She turned to Selina, eyes blazing. "I've found the most worthwhile client to cultivate. In my opinion, he's practically radiant!"
"Bullshit," Selina snapped.
Hearing Liv praise a man like that—so openly, so fervently—stung more than she cared to admit. When had her Liv ever looked at anyone like that?
"If you like him so much," she said coolly, "go ahead and stare at your 'radiance.' I'm going home to feed the cat."
She gave Liv's backside a playful pat and turned to leave—but Liv caught her hand.
"Don't be so capricious, Selina. Sit with me a while longer. I still want to hear you talk about Downton killing Sabatino. Please, darling."
"What are you begging me for?" Selina scoffed, swatting her hand away. "Go beg your 'radiance.' He explained it better than I ever could."
She chuckled again—this time without warmth—and strode out.
Liv watched her go, reaching out instinctively, but her fingers closed around nothing but shadow.
"Selina!" she called out, voice suddenly urgent. "Wait! I just got word—Falcone sent Victor to bring Sophia back to Gotham."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You and she are mortal enemies. That bitch will kill you. Don't go back to your shared apartment. Stay here with me—please!"
Selina paused in the doorway but didn't turn.
"Beg me for what?" she said, tone icy. "Go beg your light. After all, Sophia only came back to marry him."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "You and Sophia—you're both just pathetic women, twisted into strange shapes by men like Falcone and Downton."
She finally turned, eyes flashing with defiance. "But I'm different, Liv. No one catches me. No one controls me."
She lifted her chin. "Sophia Falcone? Let her come.
"I am Selina Kyle. I was born free."