Falcon the 3rd – Issue #3 Shecon is a highly skilled warrior with exceptional stamina, allowing her to run at high speeds and climb with agility far beyond a normal…

 

The forest air trembled as the skull-faced creature crouched on the branch, its blade gleaming in the mist. Rita slid back in the dirt, breath sharp, heart pounding like thunder trapped in her ribs. Beside her, Faro rose to one knee, the Ring of Falcon burning like a miniature sun in his fist. Leaves shook loose from the trees, orbiting him in a fiery spiral. The creature hissed, red hair writhing like furious flames. Faro didn’t blink. The glow spread up his arm. “Stay behind me,” he whispered. Rita clutched the earth. The forest fell silent, waiting for destiny to strike.

The forest seemed to hold its breath. Mist clung to every branch like ghostly webs, and Rita felt it on her skin, cold and invading. Her legs slid across the mossy earth as she scrambled back, breath ragged, dress streaked with dirt. She didn’t dare blink. The thing on the tree was watching them.

It crouched like a nightmare given flesh: a towering soilmen male with muscles knotted like ropes under pale skin, long red hair like wildfire whipping in the wind, and a skull where a face should be. Empty sockets stared down, black and endless. In its fist, a jagged blade glinted, thirsty.

Faro rose to one knee beside her, jaw clenched. He looked impossibly young in that moment, a soilmen boy with red hair and fear in his eyes. But fear wasn’t all. In his hand, the Ring of Falcon began to glow, a trembling spark at first. Then it flared, lighting the trees with a surge of orange fire like dawn breaking in his palm.

Leaves spun around his arm, drawn to the glow as if gravity had shifted. Rita felt the heat lick her cheek, warm and alive. “Stay behind me,” Faro whispered, voice shaking but sure. She heard duty in it. She heard destiny. She heard the echo of every Falcon before him.

The creature shifted. Bark cracked under its weight as it pressed forward on the branch. Its grin stretched impossibly wide across bone, a hollow threat. It raised the blade.

Rita’s fingers dug into the soil. She could not run. Even if she tried, her body refused. Something ancient in the forest was awake now. Something older than fear.

Faro stood, arm outstretched, the ring a burning star in the ruins of the night.

The forest fell silent.

Just before everything changed.

Moonlight clung to the treetops like pale fire, and the clearing below held its breath. Falcon’s boots carved backward through the soil as he dodged, heartbeat rising like thunder in his ribs. He had never seen a thing like this; he had never even imagined it. Murder Dog lunged again, his bare feet silent, his movements too smooth for something so monstrous. The skull that served as his face caught the moonlight, hollow eyes gleaming with a hunger that was not human.

Falcon’s ring pulsed. The orange glow flickered in time with his fear, brightening each time he lifted his fist. He could feel it, like a second heartbeat, like something ancient inside him had woken up just to witness this moment. The forest bent around them, branches twisting like they were afraid to get too close.

Murder Dog’s blade cut the air where Falcon had been only a breath before. He stumbled, stepped wide, barely caught himself. His throat felt tight, his voice locked behind terror, but he managed to raise his hand. The ring’s glow crawled up his forearm like fire made of memory.

“Who are you?” Falcon asked, but the question fell flat, swallowed by fog. Murder Dog offered no answer. The red hair that hung around his skull swayed like bloodied strands of a nightmare, and his chest rose and fell with the quiet rage of an animal denied its meal. Then he moved again—fast, impossibly fast—and Falcon felt the air break beside him. The blade never touched, but he felt its promise.

Somewhere behind him in the trees, a branch snapped. Perhaps the forest wanted to run. Perhaps it prayed. Falcon planted his feet. He did not know how to fight someone like this. He barely knew how to fight at all. But he knew how to survive. And the ring, warm now, seemed to whisper that surviving was enough. For now.

Falcon’s stance changed. His breath steadied. Murder Dog halted mid-stride, skull angled, sensing the shift. They faced each other as the fog thickened, as the moon hid behind thin clouds, as the world trembled on the edge of whatever came next. Falcon’s fist rose, ring flaring.

The first chapter of fear was ending.

And the night, impossibly dark and wide, opened its mouth to begin another.

ChatGPT Generated Falcon 3rd Gallery is a visual archive of concept art created for the Planet Thundarr universe by Omar Saif, in collaboration with AI as a creative assistant. These images represent evolving character ideas, locations, and story moments from the Falcon III saga — from forest encounters and Thundarr City skylines to Rita Faros’ iconic looks and the world that surrounds her. Each visual is a step in the ongoing development of this universe, blending human imagination with machine-generated interpretation.

In the blazing sunlight of SouthBank City, where life burns with color and contradiction,
Faro Faros walks hand-in-hand with Rita — unaware that shadows trail them like ghosts from the forest.

**LOVE AND SHADOWS IN SOUTHBANK CITY**
*A poem inspired by the moments before destiny returns.*

In SouthBank City, where the sidewalks gleam,
Where summer hangs like a half-remembered dream,
A boy with fire for hair and a falcon on his chest
Walks with a girl whose laughter makes the world feel blessed.

He holds roses like secrets he’s rehearsed in his palms,
Petals trembling like sparrows, like psalms.
His Power Ring glows like a promise half-told,
A story of flames, of courage, of gold.

And she—
Sun-soaked in yellow and bottle-green skies,
Is a sunrise that learned how to walk and disguise
All the wars she has fought in the back of her mind,
All the storms she has weathered, the ghosts left behind.

Their smiles touch without touching, like prayers and like sparks,
Two souls who found daylight after life lost its marks.

But love, on this street, is never alone;
It is watched, it is tested, like metal on stone.
A billboard above gnashes teeth in a grin,
Mr. Clown’s voice slithering, *I am watching*, again.

He is laughter made poison, a carnival’s ghost,
A predator advertising fear like a host.

And farther behind, like a breath held too long,
Stands Ronda Riy—
glass-eyed, brittle, sky-blue and wrong
for this moment so tender,
for this chapter she can’t mend or
undo,
as jealousy stings like a splintering truth.

Yet the couple stays steady—
like dawn and like dusk,
like fate holding hands with both passion and trust.

For Faro and Rita are kindle and spark,
Light in the daylight, flame in the dark.
Her smile is a sunrise he never outran,
His touch is the proof that she finally can
let the forest and battlefields blur in her soul.

So remember this moment
when the thunderclouds come—
for even a hero needs somewhere called *home.*

Rita, Faro, and little Sulari step out of the elevator into the polished marble hallway of the new SouthBank apartment complex. Rita holds Sulari’s small hand tightly, while Faro follows behind with a single travel bag slung over his shoulder. The apartment door opens before they can knock.

Standing there is Ronda Riy with her wide round glasses, her hair pulled into a neat bun. At her side is her own daughter—
Mira Riy, a thin girl of 4 years old with the same pale complexion as her mother and curious, watchful eyes.

“Welcome, again!” Ronda says, lips curling into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Rita bends down, hugging Ronda stiffly, her embrace cold and distant. Ronda barely pats her back before stepping away. Faro steps forward and wraps his arms around Ronda warmly, but then she surprises everyone—leaning in and planting a kiss directly on his lips. Sulari blinks in confusion. Rita’s green eyes flash sharply, though she says nothing at first.

Inside, the apartment is spacious, freshly painted, with four bedrooms spread down a long hallway.

Rita takes charge quickly. “Here is how it will be arranged,” she says firmly, her tone echoing through the walls. “I will take the second bedroom with Sulari & Faro. You, Ronda, will remain in the master with your daughter. The third and fourth can serve as spares if need be. As for rent—Faro will soon get a job and will pay my part and Sulari’s share. You will cover yours and Mira’s.”

Ronda stood with her arms crossed, her glasses catching the light as she spoke with quiet authority.

“Listen, Rita, this is my apartment. Here’s how it will be arranged,” she said firmly. “You, Sulari and Mira will take the second bedroom together. Faro stays with me in the master. The other two can stay as spares if anyone visits. As for rent—since you chose to stay here, you’ll cover your part and Sulari’s. Faro is my guest, so his place is with me and Mira.”

Ronda crosses her arms, her glasses sliding down her nose. Then, with a sharper edge, she adds: “You should find a job Rita.”

As for Faro—” she turns, placing a hand on his chest possessively, “he will help me here. In the house. With the children.”

Sulari tugs Rita’s skirt, sensing the tension. Rita’s jaw tightens as she glares at Ronda. “Why,” she asks icily, “does Faro not need to work like the rest of us? Is he your pet now?”

The room falls into silence, only broken by the ticking of the kitchen clock.

Rita’s eyes narrowed, her arms crossing beneath her chest as she stood firm. “Why, Ronda?” she asked again sharply, “should my husband be listed under your expenses, Ronda? He is not your burden to bear. Do not think I will let you claim him in the ledgers as well as the bed.”

The tension hung heavy, Ronda holding her ground, her jaw tight with authority. Before the argument could spiral further, Faro stepped forward, his voice calm but steady.

“Enough,” he said, raising a hand. “Ronda’s conditions stand. You, me and Sulari need shelter, Rita, and this roof of Ronda provides it. Pride doesn’t matter here—safety does.”

Rita opened her mouth to protest, but Faro cut her short by wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close in front of Ronda. His lips pressed against Rita’s with sudden intensity, silencing her resistance.

Ronda stood still, her face betraying nothing, but her eyes—dark with jealousy—followed every second of the kiss. The sting of being sidelined in her own home lingered like a silent accusation.

Ronda, still trying to keep her pride intact despite the jealousy boiling inside her, crosses her arms and says firmly:

Ronda: “Let’s not forget something important. Here in Thundarr City, the law doesn’t recognize your… union. Which means, Faro, if anyone asks, I am your wife. Rita can stay here, but only as Sulari’s guardian. That way no officials will question why two women and a child live in my apartment with you.”

Rita’s eyes narrow at Ronda’s words, her tone sharp but not raising her voice in front of Sulari.

Rita: “Pretend, you say? How convenient for you, Ronda. You want the title of wife without the duties of one. Do you think I’ll accept being pushed into the shadows, called nothing more than a guardian?”

Faro quickly steps in, holding Rita’s hand and stroking Sulari’s hair with his other hand to calm the storm.

Faro: “No one here is in the shadows. Ronda is only thinking of survival, Rita. She’s right—this city plays by its own rules, and we need to be careful. Let her carry the name, if it keeps Sulari safe and us under one roof. It doesn’t change what you and I are.”

Rita softens slightly, but the tension lingers in her green eyes. Ronda smirks faintly, masking her jealousy with a sense of victory, though deep down she knows Rita’s bond with Faro runs deeper than any “pretend marriage.”

Later that evening at dinner time.

The candles on the dinner table flickered low, casting long shadows across the plates of roasted duck and spiced roots that Rita had prepared. The children had long since gone to bed, leaving the three adults alone in the quiet of the apartment.

Faro leaned back in his chair, arm draped lazily across the backrest as he studied Ronda. His tone was casual, but the weight behind his words was sharp:

Faro: “So, Ronda… what of Cal? Does he know about this arrangement of ours? You pretending as my wife, Rita as guardian, and me staying under your roof?”

Ronda placed her fork down carefully, her round glasses catching the faint shimmer of the candlelight. She exhaled softly before answering, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of unease.

Ronda: “Cal doesn’t know. And it’s better that way. He’s… complicated, Faro. If he were to find out that you and Rita were staying here—under my roof—he wouldn’t see it as a family necessity. He’d see it as betrayal. You know how he is.”

She paused, glancing briefly at Rita before continuing.

Ronda: “I’ve kept my distance from him for months. He’s drowning in his own secrets and women, pretending to be untouchable. If he knew about this, he’d use it against me—or worse, against you. He doesn’t understand the kind of bonds we’re trying to protect here.”

Rita crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with narrowed eyes.

Rita: “So, you’re hiding this from Cal… not for us, but for yourself. To keep your pride intact.”

Ronda’s lips tightened, but she didn’t argue.

Faro, sensing the tension building again, tapped the table lightly with his fingers.

Faro: “Enough. We all know Cal isn’t the type to play family. He’s too busy playing the Clowns sidekick.”

At those words, Ronda stiffened, her eyes widening just slightly. Rita’s smirk said she had caught the reaction.

Rita: “So you do know about his little criminal life…”

Ronda quickly composed herself, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Ronda: “Knowing is one thing. Speaking of it is another. Cal’s choices are his own. But Faro, if you’re asking whether he’ll be a problem for us—then yes, he will. The less he knows, the safer we all are from him and the Clown.”

The table fell silent, the only sound the faint crackle of the candle. Faro’s eyes shifted between the two women—his jealous Ronda and his defiant Rita—knowing full well the storm of Cal Faros and the Clown loomed over all of them like a shadow.

The doorbell rang suddenly, its sharp chime breaking the quiet of the dinner table. Faro pushed back his chair and went to answer it, his face still half-focused on the conversation they had been having about Cal.

When the door swung open, Faro froze.

There stood Flint, his brother – grinning ear to ear, dressed in red and blue. In his hands he held two bouquets of roses—one lush red, the other bright yellow.

“Hey there, brother man!” Flint’s voice boomed with forced cheer, the kind that carried an undertone of mischief.

Faro’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on the doorframe. “Flint…” he muttered, suspicion and surprise mixing in his tone.

Flint extended the flowers forward with an exaggerated flourish. “One red bouquet for the lovely Mrs. Rita Faros, and the other yellow bouquet… well, you’ll just have to guess who it’s for.” He winked, shifting his gaze past Faro, clearly aware that Ronda and her daughter were inside.

From the dining table, Rita’s eyes darkened. She leaned slightly forward, already sensing trouble. Ronda sat stiffly, her hand brushing the edge of the tablecloth, unsure whether to smile politely or brace for something worse.

The silence at the doorway lingered heavy, the roses looking strangely out of place in Flint’s hands—like a mask for intentions no flower could sweeten.

From behind, Ronda’s voice broke the silence. “Flint? What a surprise!” she said, stepping closer. Her tone carried a playful astonishment, but as her eyes met Flint’s, she gave him a subtle wink—a silent signal to play along and not reveal too much.

“How on Sol did you find out about our new place?” she added, feigning ignorance as though the visit were a complete mystery to her.

Flint caught the wink instantly, his grin widening. “Ah, you know me,” he said, stepping forward with casual confidence. “Word gets around. A little bird must’ve chirped it into my ear.”

“Besides, I figured my little brother and his wife, who is also my aunty, deserved a proper housewarming visit—with roses for the ladies of the home.” he said smoothly.

He extended the red bouquet toward Rita and the yellow one toward Ronda, his eyes glinting mischievously as he waited for their reactions.

Rita narrowed her eyes at the doorway, already suspicious of the exchange, while Faro’s lips parted, unsure whether to feel anger, confusion, or wariness at Flint’s sudden intrusion.

Ronda Riy’s world collapsed quietly, not with one confession, but with pieces of truth slipping into her hands like shards of broken glass. It began when Flint approached her, his tone almost casual, but his words soaked with venom.

“You should know what your husband does when he says he’s ‘working.’”

At first, Ronda dismissed him—Flint was a Faros, and she had learned to distrust the family’s twisted games. But then came the proof. Videotapes, grainy yet undeniable, showing Cal Faros—her husband, the man she thought she tamed with marriage—wrapped in the arms of other women. Not once, not twice, but over and over again. Different cities, different hotel rooms. Each time, Cal smiling, murmuring words of charm that Ronda once thought belonged only to her.

Flint had followed him, tracked him with a secret recording device, a cruelly clever eye behind the lens. He compiled the evidence meticulously, savoring the slow destruction of his cousin’s image. Ronda’s hands trembled as she watched, as she saw Cal’s lies unfold—those “business trips” that kept him away for weeks, the dinners that were supposed to be meetings, the moments he missed with her and their daughter.

The betrayal stung not just as a wife, but as a mother. Cal hadn’t just lied to her—he had lied to their little girl, spinning tales of duty and responsibility while indulging in selfish desire.

In her pain, Ronda turned to the very network Cal once boasted of fighting against. With Flint as her bitter guide, she gained access to Clown Inc.’s vast surveillance and communication technology. The irony was sharp—reaching out through the empire of Mr. Clown, the enemy of the Faros name.

But her message was clear, carved with longing and sorrow:

“Faro, it’s me… Ronda. I need your help. I was blind, and I see it now—Cal was never faithful, not even from the start. He lied to me, to my daughter, to all of us. I can’t stay in that mansion. I don’t want riches, I don’t want lies. I want to go back to when we were real. Our SouthBank apartment, just the two of us. Or three—Rita can come too, with her children. I don’t care if it’s crowded. I just want us to live again. Together. Honest. Free.”

Her voice cracked at the end of the transmission, a mix of desperation and fragile hope. And somewhere, beneath the stars of Planet Thundarr, Faro Faros received the call—his heart torn between memory, desire, and the dangerous path Flint had just opened for them all.

The Oasis of Lovers shimmered in moonlight, its waters still and deceptive, reflecting a paradise that felt more like a prison. Faro and Rita rested against the cool stone, weary, stripped of their powers and the confidence those powers once gave them.

The silence broke with a flutter of delicate wings. A Fairy descended from the palms, her glow painting the oasis in silver. She hovered before Rita, her small hands cupping a glowing mote of light.

“For you,” the Fairy chimed softly, her voice like bells. “A message from far away.”

Rita extended her hand, and the mote dissolved into sound. Ronda’s voice spilled into the air, fragile and breaking, carried on magic rather than wire:

“Faro, it’s me… Ronda. I need your help. I was blind, and I see it now—Cal was never faithful, not even from the start. He lied to me, to my daughter, to all of us. I can’t stay in that mansion. I don’t want riches, I don’t want lies. I want to go back to when we were real. Our SouthBank apartment, just the two of us. Or three—Rita can come too, with her children. I don’t care if it’s crowded. I just want us to live again. Together. Honest. Free.”

The Fairy bowed and drifted back into the night, leaving Rita holding the echo of the words. For a long moment, she did not look at Faro. She only stared at the glowing pool, her jaw tight.

Finally, she turned. Her green eyes glistened, but her voice was steady. “The message was meant for you. But it came to me instead.” She moved closer, kneeling beside him. “So I’ll ask—what do you want, Faro? Do you want her back, with her daughter, with her dream of that little SouthBank apartment? Or do you want me, here, now, even if all we have is this… and no powers left to shield us?”

The oasis was silent again, save for the distant call of night-birds. The question hung between them, heavier than their lost strength, heavier than the chains of the curse itself.

Faro leaned forward, running his hand through the sand, his reflection trembling in the moonlit water of the oasis. The air was heavy with Ronda’s words, but his voice when it came was steady, practical.

“Rita,” he said, “we can’t stay here forever. Not like this. Stripped of our powers, stranded, naked under the sky as though we’re prisoners of fate.” His gaze lifted to hers, sharp with resolve. “The children need a home. A roof, walls, a place where they can sleep without fear. Whatever else we’ve lost, we cannot take that from them.”

He drew a breath, the weight of Ronda’s plea pressing down on him. “SouthBank. It’s not the Cave of Falcon, it’s not a fortress, but it’s something. A place in the city where they can be safe. Where we can be safe… at least for now.”

Then he turned fully to Rita, his eyes holding hers, refusing to dictate the path but refusing to run from it either. “This isn’t just about me—or her. This is about us, about the family we carry whether we chose it or not. You heard her. Ronda is willing. She has a daughter. You have children. They deserve better than this.”

His hand hovered near hers, trembling between pleading and strength. “So I’ll leave it to you, Rita. You make the final decision. Do we take Ronda’s offer? Do we go back to SouthBank, to her apartment, even if it’s only temporary? Or do we try to find another path? Tell me.”

The Oasis of Lovers fell into silence, broken only by the rustle of palms. The stars seemed to lean closer, waiting with them, as if the entire night held its breath for Rita’s answer.

Rita listened to Faro’s words in silence, her green eyes reflecting the shimmer of the oasis waters. For a long moment, she said nothing—only let the wind stir her hair while the Fairy’s glow faded into the night.

At last she spoke, her voice low but firm. “You’re right. The children cannot grow up in the Pigmen village. They deserve a home, not mud huts and fear. But Pifo…” She shook her head, sorrow cutting through her tone. “He cannot stay in Thundarr City. The D.E.C. bars Pigmen at the gates. If he comes with us, he’ll be hunted, caged—or worse.” Her hand curled into the sand, tight with anger.

She lifted her gaze back to Faro. “Still, I agree. We will go to Ronda. A four-bedroom apartment at SouthBank. Enough space for family. But I set one condition—my daughter will not share a room with hers. They each deserve their own walls, their own space, their own place to dream. If Ronda wants to build something new with us, it will be done with respect.”

Faro’s heart leapt at her words, joy bursting through the weariness of exile. He stood suddenly, laughing, the sound echoing off the dunes like thunder against the stars. He reached for Rita, pulling her into his arms. “Yes! Yes, Rita! You’ve made the choice, and it is the right one. A new life waits for us!”

Their laughter tangled together as they stumbled into the soft dunes, the sand cool beneath their bare skin. Faro kissed her deeply, hungrily, the desert’s silence broken by their breath and the rustle of shifting sand. In that moment, stripped of power, stripped of titles, they were only man and woman—clinging to each other, finding fire in the heart of their exile.

The Oasis of Lovers cradled them, its eternal stillness bearing witness as their joy turned to love, their love to surrender.

In the mansion’s high chamber, Ronda sat by the window, the city lights of Thundarr flickering like a restless sea below. Flint’s shadow lingered in the corner, his sly grin never far from her eyes.

“The choice has been made,” Flint told her smoothly. “Rita agreed. She’ll bring her children to SouthBank. Faro too. The Oasis no longer holds them.”

Ronda’s lips curved slowly, her reflection in the glass catching the glint of her round spectacles. She drew in a slow breath, her chest rising, her eyes narrowing as if seeing beyond the walls, beyond the city, straight to the moment she’d been waiting for.

“So it begins…” she whispered. A smile, almost tender, touched her lips. “Now I can make Faro my husband, like destiny meant it to be.”

Her fingers trailed the glass, tracing an invisible circle around the city skyline. The thought of him—no longer poor, no longer trapped—stirred something fierce and determined in her heart. Ronda Riy had suffered betrayal, endured lies, and now she clung to one truth with the grip of iron: the past could be remade, and this time, she would not lose him.

Behind her, Flint’s grin widened, pleased to see his quiet manipulation blooming into resolve.

Ronda’s whisper still lingered in the chamber air—“Now I can make Faro my husband, like destiny meant it to be.”

From the shadows, Flint let out a low chuckle, his arms crossed, eyes glinting with mischief. “My lucky bastard of a brother,” he sneered, “will be living with two wives! Aunty Rita in one bedroom, and you in another—and both of you too blind to see the joke in it.”

Ronda shot him a sharp look, though her smile never fully vanished. “You call it luck,” she said, her voice cool, “but I call it fate. Maybe you’ve forgotten, Flint, but I loved Faro before any mansion, before the riches, before Cal ever laid eyes on me. Besides Rita is his maternal aunt and that marriage is not recognized by the Thundarr City laws!”

Flint shrugged, amused, his grin wide. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. But don’t mistake my honesty for mockery. Two women circling him, both willing to share his bed, his name, his fire… If that’s not luck, I don’t know what is.”

Ronda turned back to the window, hiding the flicker of warmth and jealousy in her eyes. Flint’s laughter followed her, curling like smoke through the room.

Ronda adjusted her glasses, her eyes still fixed on the glittering city outside the mansion window. Her smile faded into calculation, her voice calm but edged with steel.

“Flint,” she said, turning to face him, “I need you to arrange something for me.”

Flint raised an eyebrow, his crooked grin already anticipating mischief. “Go on.”

“I want divorce papers,” Ronda continued, her tone crisp. “Fake ones. Documents that say Cal and I have separated, so there’s no trouble when it comes to the apartment lease. And while you’re at it, draft fake marriage papers between Faro and me. If the authorities look, everything will appear proper—our signatures, the seals, the dates.”

Flint laughed, shaking his head. “So that’s your grand plan? To play wife on two stages at once?”

Ronda’s smile returned, thin and cold. “I still want to be legally married to Cal. His money is mine, his status protects me. I won’t throw that away just to work for a living like the rest of them. But with Faro…” Her eyes gleamed with desire and spite. “With Faro, I’ll have what Rita thinks she owns. I don’t care if the marriage is fake on paper. All I need is the illusion strong enough to bind him—and to break her.”

Flint leaned against the wall, arms crossed, clearly entertained. “You really are a wicked little genius, Ronda. Playing both men at once… Cal for the gold, Faro for the heat. And poor Rita? She won’t stand a chance.”

Ronda adjusted her skirt, standing taller. “Let her watch. Let her crumble. Once Faro is mine again, she’ll learn what it feels like to lose everything she thought was safe.”

Flint smirked, already plotting the forgery. “Consider it done. I’ll give you your papers, sister-in-law—real enough to fool any clerk in Thundarr City. And when the ink is dry… well, we’ll see how long your little empire of lies holds.”

Ronda’s smile sharpened, satisfied. “Long enough. Long enough to get what I want.”