The faint hum of Smallville's town square drifted around her—conversations, distant traffic, the faint clang of construction somewhere down the street.
She pulled her jacket tighter around her, adjusting the strap of her bag over one shoulder. The sun hung low on the horizon, stretching shadows across the brick-paved sidewalk. Her car was parked a block down, half-hidden by a delivery truck.
Valerie wasn't in a hurry.
She liked this time of day—the quiet before the streetlights flickered on and the town settled into its nighttime rhythm.
A sharp flicker of movement caught the edge of her vision.
Before she could react, a hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her forward with enough force to jolt her off balance.
"What the hell—"
"Walk faster," a voice muttered near her ear.
Valerie's head snapped up, gaze locking on the familiar profile beside her.
Oliver Queen.
His grip was firm but not bruising, his stride purposeful as he guided her briskly past her car without slowing down.
"What are you doing?" Valerie hissed, twisting her wrist slightly.
"Saving your night," Oliver shot back, his tone light but his eyes sharp, scanning the street ahead.
Valerie's heels clicked harder against the pavement as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.
"You couldn't just text like a normal person?"
He didn't answer.
She glanced over her shoulder, and that's when she saw them—paparazzi, maybe five or six, camera lenses flashing in the fading light as they weaved through the crowded street in pursuit.
