Donatello pointed to a digital camera on the bedside table with visible impact marks on its casing. "That's her gear. The photos inside... she captured something. Something that feels very important, and very dangerous."
Hawk stepped closer, his gaze fixed on April O'Neil's face.
Just then, as if sensing the attention, April's thick eyelashes fluttered a few times. A vague moan escaped her throat, and she slowly opened her eyes. At first, her brown eyes were filled with confusion and disorientation, her pupils unfocused in the dim light. She instinctively tried to rub her eyes, but the movement aggravated an injury, making her hiss in pain. Her gaze swept blankly across the strange, graffiti-covered concrete ceiling and the huge pipes, finally settling on Hawk's face, close to hers and observing her.
The confusion quickly vanished, replaced by professional sharpness and incredible alarm.
"You... Hawk Lane?!" April's voice was hoarse from just waking up, yet unnervingly clear. "Lane Group's... Hawk Lane?!"
She struggled to sit up, the movement pulling at a potential injury, causing her to wince, but her eyes were glued to Hawk's face, brimming with investigative intent.
Emily beside them gasped softly, instinctively shrinking further behind Hawk. The four turtle men also exchanged glances. Raphael crossed his arms and sneered, while Michelangelo peered forward curiously.
"That's me." Hawk's expression was calm; he didn't deny it. As a reporter, it would be unbelievable if she didn't recognize him. "Ms. O'Neil? How are you feeling?"
However, April had clearly forgotten her physical discomfort. Her journalistic instincts instantly overpowered the fear and pain. She ignored Hawk's question, her brown eyes scanning like searchlights: first the attractive girl behind Hawk—wait, the Columbia cheerleader, Emily Chen, the one he's been rumored to be dating?—then sharply swiveling toward the four colossal, cloaked, humanoid turtles.
"My God… you… you really exist?!" she whispered, her face a mix of shock, excitement, and the zeal of a "major exclusive just within reach." "Urban legends… city protectors… my word! Am I dreaming?!"
Next, her gaze snapped back to Hawk, and questions shot at him like a rapid-fire barrage, her train of thought dizzyingly fast: "Mr. Hawk Lane! Why are you with them? Where is this? A sewer base? What's your relationship with them? Are you their surface contact? Or… wait a minute!"
She suddenly remembered what happened before she lost consciousness. Her pupils contracted, and her voice became urgent. "The Foot Clan! And The Hand! They… they were making a massive deal down at the docks! I saw strange markings on the boxes they were moving! Like some kind of bio-hazard symbol! I took pictures! My camera—" She struggled again to find her camera, completely disregarding her condition—a full-blown professional compulsion.
"Ms. O'Neil." Hawk's voice lowered slightly, carrying an undeniable tone of authority that instantly made the chattering April pause. He firmly placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, looking directly into her eyes. "Your camera is safe. But you need to calm down right now."
Hawk leaned in slightly, closing the distance between them. His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached April's ears: "You're injured. While your 'exclusive' is important, you first need to ensure your own survival. What you photographed has put you in extreme danger. At least two of New York's largest criminal organizations want you dead."
April was subdued by the calmness in his eyes and the gravity of his words. The barrage of questions caught in her throat. She recalled the gun barrels and the menacing faces she saw before she blacked out, and an involuntary shiver ran through her body.
"As for why I'm here?" Hawk's gaze swept across the silent Leonardo and Donatello beside them, carrying a hint of amusement. "Perhaps you can view it as… fate, or that certain 'protectors' believe I can provide some necessary assistance." His tone was meaningful. "Like ensuring a reporter who holds dangerous intelligence isn't silenced before she can dig up the bigger truth. And, how to properly handle those pieces of information and photos that are simply too hot to touch."
Hawk's voice was perfectly level, but April could keenly sense the underlying power and control. This was no ordinary playboy heir. The Hawk Lane before her seemed to possess a vast, inexplicable difference from the image of the handsome, young successor on financial magazines and the playboy on entertainment headlines she had in her mind.
The Lane Group heir… why is he mixed up with these turtle men? His casual dismissal of the gang threat… His matter-of-fact tone when mentioning "handling hot information"… And the way he was looking at her now—a look of someone who understood her secret?
A thousand questions exploded in April's mind, surging more powerfully than the simple journalistic excitement from before. Her excellent reporter's intuition told her that she might have stumbled into a vortex far bigger, more secretive, and more dangerous than a mere Foot Clan deal. And one of the key figures in that vortex was the very man who should have been laughing and networking at a top Manhattan gala: Hawk Lane.
She took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to pry, and struggled to reclaim some professional decorum, though her voice still held a hint of barely suppressed eagerness and inquiry. "Then, Mr. Lane, how exactly do you plan to help me?"
Hawk looked at the fierce, yet strongly suppressed, professional fire in April's eyes. He gently released her shoulder and straightened up.
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