Sara Lance was pissed.

No one threatened her family and got away with it. It didn't matter that she and Laurel were still technically not talking, she was Taer Al-Sahfer and her family was off limits. And Len...she still remembered the all-consuming panic when he'd been shot, when she'd been sure she'd lost him, only to be consumed with relief when it was apparent he would live.

As if sensing her thoughts, he looked up and met her eyes, giving her a little half smirk, as if to say, And here I thought you always found me insufferable. Sara scowled, damn the man. This was not a joke, he had nearly been killed.

"Anyways," Rip continued, "I think we should discuss the possibility of leaving Starling, finding less contentious playing grounds. We are thieves after all, not fighters."

"Some of us aren't fighters," Sara corrected, "and we are not leaving. Leaving now will make us look weak, destroy the reputation we've worked so hard to build."

"Looking weak is better than looking dead," Stein pointed out.

"Since when have we backed down from a challenge?" Leonard pointed out, "We're the best crew of thieves ever assembled. I say we stay the course."

"All in favor?" Rip asked. The crew always voted on these decisions. Leonard, Sara, Mick, Ray, Jax, and Kendra voted in favor of staying, with Stein and Rip being the lone dissenters.

"Alright it's settled then. Even so, I don't want to just ignore this Panther fellow. Sara, Ray, and Mick, you two look into it, find out as much as you can, and keep him off our backs. The rest of you, with me to plan the heist."

Mick turned to Sara, "Alright blondie, let's go catch ourselves a Panther."

They both agreed to work different avenues and compare notes in the morning. Sara went to the living room. The hotel had replaced the glass panels and removed the shards. As she stood in the spot where the Panther had, she heard footsteps. She turned to see Len standing there watching her.

"Don't you have a heist to plan?" she wondered.

He shrugged, "Rip started talking about rules, so I got bored and left."

"How typical," Sara murmured, turning to look at the building across the way.

"You have an idea," it was not a question.

"His katanas," Sara mused, "I've seen their make before."

"Where?" Leonard asked, although he suspected he already knew.

"Nanda Parbat"

"You think this guy buys his weapons from the same place as the League?" Leonard asked.

"It's a connection," Sara said. At that moment Rip called Len into the other room.

"Duty calls," he smirked, leaving after a quick kiss. Alone, Sara recalled a story Nyssa had told her one time, about the former sword instructor at Nanda Parbat who had been released from his vows after the quality of his sword making had been so good that Ra's had decreed that the swordmaster's hands had no business doing anything except making weapons. The swordmaster had left Nanda Parbat after refusing to give up fighting, continuing to make weapons for the League, for a price. She dialed Nyssa.

"Finally decided to return home, beloved?"

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"So you need something from me then."

"You remember the story you once told me about Qat Asud?"

"What of it?"

"I recently encountered someone using weapons made by him. Do you think you could set up a meeting for me?"

"Unfortunately not. Qat Asud is dead."

"What?"

"He was murdered by League operatives two years ago after he dared to insult my father."

"Ok. Thanks anyway."

Well that was a dead end, she thought. How does a common mercenary come to possess weapons made by Qat Asud? There was a lot more to this Panther character than met the eye, that was for sure.

Mick wasn't having much better luck.

"Goddammit Haircut, why isn't anything coming up?" the arsonist roared, frustrated.

"You know, yelling at me won't make me go faster," his partner shot back, flustered.

"Sorry pumpkin, why don't you let me try," Mick suggested. Ray complied, taken aback once again how Mick could go from rage to love so quickly.

Mick was frowning. This Panther fellow's M.O. changed every job. He could be a quick clean assassination one day, a messy slaughter the other day.

"He's a chameleon criminal," Mick muttered.

"What does that mean," Ray asked, confused.

"It means he doesn't have a style. Most criminals, yours truly included, have a specific way of doing things, like a signature on an art piece. This guy, he does whatever needs to be done, and nothing more. Makes him harder to track down."

"Are there any common denominators?" Ray demanded, frustrated with the lack of progress.

Mick started to shake his head, then stopped, clicking a few different articles, he grinned, "Finally a break," he said smiling, "this guy's done a couple jobs in tandem with Deadshot."

"That assassin we hired on the Savage Job?" Ray said.

"The very same," Mick smiled, "I'm gonna set up a meeting, see what this guy can tell us."

"I don't like the idea of you alone with that guy," Ray groused, "He weirded me out last time."

"Well don't you worry sweet pea," Mick reassured, patting Ray on the cheek, "I'll bring blondie along to protect me."