Felicity's thoughts were racing as she left the mansion and returned to her car. Telling Oliver the truth about Thea's parentage was the right thing to do and yet something deep inside her screamed to be wary of Moira. The woman was a snake in the grass, one with a lot of money, power and influence.

"You tell him this, you will rip his world apart." Moira had said. "He'll hate me for sure but he'll hate you too."

Oliver wouldn't hate her for speaking the truth.

Would he?

The next few days found her distracted and subdued as she tried to figure out how and when to tell him. Everyone noticed the difference, but no one said a word until Oliver himself asked her about it at Moira's rally.

So with tears in her eyes that he wiped gently away, Felicity told Oliver the truth about his sister. He was angry, but not at her, and despite what Moira thought, he didn't hate Felicity. He couldn't think badly of her for being honest.

That evening, after the explosive reveal, Felicity found herself curled up on her couch in her cozy apartment, a much-needed mug of hot tea in one hand and her iPad resting on her knees.

She was about to take a swallow when a scuffling sound caught her attention. Before she could do more than look up, four men burst through her doorway, pointing weapons at her.

There was no time to call out for help, or even get up before they were on her. A tranq dart to the neck and black cloth over her head was the last thing she remembered before blacking out.

In a bad mood, Oliver stomped down the stairs. He really shouldn't have gone out hunting tonight, the truth about Thea had him too distracted. On the other hand, protecting the innocent of the city was one of his jobs; he couldn't – wouldn't – leave them to suffer, no matter his personal problems.

Dig, who had directed him on tonight's outing, was at the computer bank as he came into the lair and made for his case, returning his bow to its place?

"How'd it go?"

Oliver grunted.

"That good eh?"

Oliver could hear the amusement in Diggle's voice without looking. "I was so distracted, I let two drug dealers get away," he growled, finally turning to glare at his friend.

Dig just shrugged. "Can't get 'em all Oliver. They'll screw up another night and then you can catch them."

Oliver growled again. "Has Felicity been in yet?"

Dig shook his head. "She decided to take the night off. I guess the rally took more out of her than she was willing to admit."

Without replying, Oliver made for his non-Arrow phone to call her. When there was no answer after half a dozen rings, he put the phone down, frowning worriedly.

"What?" Dig asked, picking up on his concern.

"Something's not right. She usually picks up after three rings; it's not like her to not answer."

Diggle was already going for his gun. "What are you thinking?"

Worries about Thea were pushed aside, and his adrenaline began to rush through him as Oliver thought of Felicity – his Felicity – being in trouble.

"We need to get over there. Now."

With Dig at the wheel, they made it to Felicity's place in minutes. Still dressed in his leathers and with his bow at the ready, Oliver led the way to her door. He froze when he saw the state of it. "Diggle," he hissed.

"Right behind you," said the other man, his gun out.

Together they moved into her apartment; it took less than thirty seconds to sweep the place.

"She's not here," said Dig.

Oliver returned to the middle of Felicity's living room, his bow now at his side.

Diggle frowned at him, nearly jumping a foot into the air when Oliver abruptly threw his head back and screamed, venting his fear and rage.

A sliver of fear went down Dig's spine at the sound, the tingle turning into a shudder at the look on his friend's face. He'd never heard Oliver make such a sound, and never wanted to again.

If his reaction was any indication, Dig knew Oliver wasn't going to stop until he had Felicity back, and nothing but death would stop him.

As Oliver led the way out Dig hid another shudder. Whoever they would encounter in the course of their search, he was already feeling sorry for them.

He didn't have to ask; the no-kill vow was off the table.