(T/N: There is now a p.atreon for this work, and any new work I add will be dropped there first. check it out for an early release of up to 30 chapters edited smoothly. https://www.p.atreon.com/INeedRest)
T/N: Guys, please leave some reviews and comments.
Ps: We reached chapter 52 on p.atreon!
****
The Queen's Gambit incident left a trail of sorrow and devastation, but none felt it more acutely than the Queen and the Lance family.
Detective Quentin Lance, one of Starling City's most principled officers and father to Laurel and Sara Lance, was a man transformed by grief.
When the news of the Queen's yacht sinking reached him, he felt his world collapse.
The supposed death of his youngest daughter, Sara, shattered him in a way he couldn't describe.
He had lost people before, but never like that.
And the cruelest part?
She wasn't even supposed to be on that boat.
His eldest daughter, Laurel, had been dating Oliver Queen at the time, and it was her place on the yacht Sara had taken.
Sara, his curious, bright-eyed baby girl, had snuck aboard to chase the thrill, and never came back.
To Quentin, it felt like Oliver Queen had taken both his daughters.
First by betraying Laurel with Sara… then by taking Sara from the world entirely.
From that day on, Quentin's hatred for Oliver grew into something cold and immovable.
And because he couldn't lash out at a corpse, he tightened the reins on Laurel, suffocating her with strict expectations and heavy guilt.
She was the only daughter he had left.
He couldn't lose her too.
But love twisted by grief becomes a heavy burden.
No matter how hard Quentin tried to keep Laurel close, the weight of his control drove her further away.
She was determined to live her own life, especially after everything she'd been through.
By the time Laurel enrolled in college, she had already decided to move into the dorms.
The campus wasn't far from home, but distance wasn't the issue.
It was the sorrow in her father's eyes every time she walked into the room, the silent dinners and the ghost of Sara lingering in every corner.
Laurel didn't know whether to hate Sara for betraying her, or to mourn her with all her heart.
So, she chose the only escape that made sense, avoidance.
Staying away helped her breathe.
However, Quentin called often, checked in too much and still tried to lecture her like she was fifteen.
Their arguments grew louder and more frequent, until one night after a particularly cruel exchange, Laurel stormed out of the dorm.
She didn't know where she was going.
She wandered aimlessly, her mind still reeling with fury and her heart aching.
It wasn't until she found herself in a rough part of Starling, the kind of place her father always warned her about, that she finally paused.
Dark alleyways.
Broken streetlights.
Muted shouts echoing off graffiti-covered walls.
Laurel had been too lost in thought to notice the figure tailing her.
A man in a tattered hoodie slipped quietly behind her, his eyes scanning her like a predator watching prey.
And when she turned down a side street that was isolated and narrow, he made his move.
He shoved her from behind.
Laurel stumbled forward, gasping, but managed to stay on her feet.
Her hand instinctively reached for her phone, but then she turned.
And saw the gun.
"Pretty lady," the man spoke up, waving the weapon.
"Hand over your purse."
Her pulse spiked.
But this wasn't the first time Laurel had faced danger.
Growing up with a cop for a father came with lessons… how to stay calm, and how to think fast.
She slowly extended her arm and handed over her bag.
"Here. Just take it."
"Nice," the man grinned, grabbing it greedily.
But he didn't leave.
Instead, his eyes crawled over her figure.
Laurel tensed at that.
"Let's see if there's anything else worth taking," he said, stepping closer.
Laurel's voice remained steady.
"My father's a detective. You took the purse just go away now. Anything more, you'll never have a day where you are not hunted..."
The thug scoffed.
"You think that scares me? Cops don't do jack shit in this part of town."
'He's not afraid?' Laurel just stared at him watching his movements carefully.
The robber was about to grab her hand, but froze at the sound of a man's voice behind him.
"That's not a very smart move."
The thug spun around; gun raised.
"Who the hell is meddling?"
Standing at the mouth of the alley was a tall young man with his arms folded and his expression unreadable.
Allen stepped forward, his gaze flicking from the gun to the girl behind it.
"You really want to do this?" he asked, voice calm but firm.
"In broad daylight, on a street full of cameras? That's really not a smart move, man"
"You think I won't shoot you?" the robber barked.
Allen's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You can try."
"Last chance! Fuck off, or die!" the robber yelled, finger tightening on the trigger.
Allen shrugged.
"Then try it."
Bang!
The shot echoed like thunder in the alley.
But Allen didn't even flinch.
No blood. No stumble. No wound.
He stood there, completely unscathed.
The robber blinked.
"What the?"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three more shots.
They were all useless.
Allen didn't even dodge. At least it looked that way…
Panic gripped the robber's face.
He tried to backpedal, but Allen moved first, smiling like a man who'd just heard a joke.
And then he punched.
A single blow.
Clean, brutal, merciless.
Crack!
The robber's head hit the wall and his mouth and nose were broken.
Blood splattered the wall behind him as his body dropped, twitching once before going still.
It was clear that his skull was broken from the impact and blood and thus the guy was 100% dead.
Laurel's eyes widened in disbelief.
She stared at Allen, who casually plucked her stolen bag from the ground and held it out.
"Here," he said with a small smile.
"Didn't lose anything, did you?"
But Laurel couldn't respond.
The image of the dead man, Allen's bloodied fist, the casual tone in his voice… it all swirled in her head like a fever dream.
And then her legs gave out.
Thud!
She fainted.
Allen blinked.
"Well, that was expected."
He looked at her unconscious form for a moment, then crouched down, slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and calmly walked out of the alley.
He didn't bother to hide the body.
Let the police find it.
They needed the excitement.
About an hour later, a patrol officer stumbled across the scene.
One look at the mess and the body, and the call went out.
The area was sealed off in minutes.
Meanwhile, at his precinct, Detective Quentin Lance was sitting at his desk, quiet and brooding.
His anger had faded.
Regret filled the space where rage had lived just an hour ago.
He shouldn't have said those things to Laurel.
He should've just listened.
Sighing, he picked up his phone and dialed her number, hoping to apologize.
Hoping she had come home and that she was safe.
But the call went straight to voicemail.
Something was wrong.