"Copy that," Selina whispered into her comm.

  Girls continued emerging from their rooms around her, clustering in confused groups near the unconscious guards.

  "Protocol Moses activate," she said quietly to her earpiece.

  A holographic screen materialized in front of her face, showing four camera feeds. Floor one showed a few girls in the lobby area, floor two had several older girls in a common area, floor four revealed three girls near abandoned film equipment. Her own floor—three—showed the girls already gathering around her.

  "Drones one, two, four—activate," she said.

  On her screen, she watched three versions of herself materialize simultaneously—one in the first-floor lobby, one on the second floor, and one on the fourth floor.

  Selina began speaking, her voice reaching all three locations simultaneously. "We need to leave this building right now. This is our chance."

  Through her feeds, she saw resistance. On floor two, an older girl crossed her arms. "Why should we trust you?"

  On floor four, the girls backed away from her projection.

  *They're scared. Don't trust easily.*

  "I know you don't know me," Selina continued, "but we have to move fast."

  The girls hesitated, suspicious. Some turned away from her holograms entirely.

  *Need something they'll respond to.*

  Selina reached over and yanked down the fire arm handle beside her.

  Arms bred throughout the building. Red lights fshed in the corridors.

  "Fire arm!" she called out. "Everyone to the first floor! Follow me!"

  The change was instant. The girls started moving—following her on the third floor, and trailing her holograms on the other floors.

  Through her screen, Selina directed the evacuation with whispered commands and eye movements. "Everyone to the stairwells. Move quickly but don't run."

  She led her own group toward the stairs while controlling the other projections.

  Within minutes, girls converged on the first floor lobby. Selina watched groups arrive from different stairwells, all following different versions of herself.

  Then confusion spread through the crowd. Girls stared at multiple Selinas.

  "Why are there so many?"

  "Which one is real?"

  "Deactivate holograms," Selina whispered.

  The projections vanished, leaving only her in the lobby.

  "Let's get out of here!" she called over the arm.

  She moved toward the exit, all fifty-seven girls following behind her.

  ---

  The fire arm's piercing wail suddenly filled the apartment, red lights fshing across the expensive furniture. Harley's heart jumped as the sound echoed off the walls.

  "Fire arm," she said, meeting Mr. J's eyes. "We need to get out of here."

  Mr. J quickly grabbed the garbage bag full of money from his cleaning cart, hefting the heavy bag over his shoulder with a grunt. "Perfect timing," he muttered. "Let's go."

  They moved quickly but carefully down the stairwell. Harley could hear voices below—panicked chatter, footsteps on the stairs. As they reached the third floor nding, girls began streaming past them, some still in their pajamas, others putting on shoes as they hurried toward the exit.

  "Stay calm," Harley whispered to Mr. J, falling into step behind a group of younger girls. "Just blend in."

  The crowd thickened as they reached the first floor. Harley recognized most of the faces around her—girls she'd shared meals with, watched television with, lived alongside and filmed with for years. Maya was there, clutching her stuffed rabbit. Sarah was helping one of the newer girls who looked ready to cry. All of them moving toward the exit in a confused mass.

  As they approached the open front doors, girls were already gathering on the sidewalk in small groups. Bethany and Lucretia stood close together, holding hands tightly. Tears streamed down both their faces, but it didn't look like panic or fear—something more like relief. Bethany kept looking back at the building like she couldn't believe they were really escaping, while Lucretia whispered something in her ear that made her nod and squeeze her hand even tighter.

  Standing among the girls was a figure that made Harley's breath catch.

  He was tall—maybe six-two—dressed entirely in what looked like a dark, form-fitting suit that made him look like some kind of bat. His height and broad-shouldered build clearly marked him as a man, though his face was completely hidden by the mask and cowl he wore. He stood perfectly still, calmly watching over the girls. Despite his imposing appearance, he wasn't doing anything threatening—just standing there quietly.

  Standing beside him was a girl with dark hair, maybe fifteen, talking to the younger ones with calm authority. The girls seemed nervous around the mysterious figure—keeping their distance, stealing gnces—but they weren't running. They seemed comfortable with the dark-haired girl, and because she stood beside him without fear, they tolerated his presence.

  *Who are they?* Harley wondered, guiding Mr. J slightly to the left as they moved through the crowd. *And what are they doing here?*

  She kept her head down, one hand on Mr. J's elbow, steering them away from the main group. As they moved, she caught glimpses of other familiar pairs—the brunette from the third floor had her arm around her redheaded girlfriend, both of them crying quietly as they realized what was happening. Two younger girls she'd seen whispering together after lights-out were clutching each other like they were afraid someone might try to separate them. Girls she'd done scenes with over the years, all of them finally free.

  The garage entrance was only fifty feet away, hidden in the shadows at the side of the building. Just had to stay calm, keep moving, don't draw attention.

  But as they slipped away from the crowd, Harley felt like she was being watched. She risked a gnce over her shoulder.

  The tall figure's head had turned slightly in their direction. Even from this distance, even though she couldn't see his face, she could sense his attention tracking their movement. Her stomach clenched with sudden fear.

  *Does he know? Does he see what we're carrying?*

  Mr. J kept walking steadily toward the garage, the garbage bag slung over his shoulder like he was just taking out trash. But Harley could feel sweat on her palms. The mysterious figure was still watching them—she was sure of it.

  *Say something,* she thought frantically. *Do something. Are you going to stop us?*

  But he didn't move. Didn't call out. Just stood there calmly as they reached the garage entrance and slipped inside.

  The garage was dimly lit, filled with the smell of motor oil and concrete dust. Mr. J's old Volkswagen Beetle sat in the corner where he'd parked it that morning—faded blue paint, rust spots along the doors, but reliable. He'd been driving that car since before she'd known him.

  "Here," Mr. J said, popping the trunk. But the garbage bag was too big. "Backseat."

  Harley opened the rear door and helped him wrestle the bag inside. Even through the bck pstic, the distinct rectangur shapes of bundled cash were obvious. A million dolrs. Their ticket out of this life.

  Mr. J slid into the driver's seat while Harley got in on the passenger side. For a moment, they just sat there, breathing hard, listening to the muffled sound of the fire arm still bring from the building.

  "It actually worked," Harley said, turning to look at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  A slow smile spread across Mr. J's kind face. "Yeah. It did."

  She leaned over and threw her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He smelled like cleaning supplies and Old Spice, familiar and comforting.

  "Ready?" he asked, starting the engine. The Beetle coughed to life with a puttering sound.

  Harley settled back in her seat and nodded. "Let's get out of here."

  Mr. J put the car in gear and slowly drove toward the garage exit. In a few seconds, they'd be on the street. Free. Rich. Finally able to leave Gotham and everything it represented behind them.