Sara's brow furrowed looking down at him. His voice thick, slightly slurred, like he might be about to finally pass out or fall asleep, one, the other, or both. His body probably needed them both. But it doesn't stop him from smiling that strange slash of s smile that reminds her too much of metal. Sharp and cold. Hard under her breastbone. Confusing in her chest.

"The League of--" She cannot have heard that right. Or demons. Or revenge. Or sacrifices.

Oliver Queen was a spoiled rich boy who drowned in a surprise accident.