Rain streaked across the tinted windows of the black sedan as it moved through Gotham's western districts.
Another car followed close behind for protection.
Inside the lead vehicle sat the head of the Khadym Mob, Viktor Khadym.
The city lights slid across his face in slow flashes as the car moved through traffic. His bodyguards sat in silence, but Viktor's mind was far from the quiet interior of the vehicle.
It had been two days since the warehouse meeting.
Two days since his lieutenant, Rashid Kova, had called him personally with a report that had immediately captured Viktor's full attention.
The boss of the underpass.
Viktor's jaw tightened slightly.
Since their sudden emergence, the underpass faction had been… disruptive. A network of homeless runners, smugglers, and informants that had quickly grown into something far more organized than anyone expected.
And then there was their leader.
Bold enough to walk into Khadym territory himself.
Viktor could still hear Rashid's voice describing the meeting.
The confidence.
The provocation.
The way the man had deliberately antagonized them.
Viktor felt anger stir low in his stomach as he thought about it.
The audacity alone demanded a response.
But Viktor Khadym had not survived this long in Gotham's criminal economy by letting anger make decisions for him.
He thought about the long game and Rashid had been very clear in his report.
The Underpass network controlled routes through Gotham that traditional organizations struggled to move through—back channels, forgotten infrastructure, populations no one else could organize or mobilize.
If even half of that was true…
Then those routes had real value.
His fingers tapped once against the door beside him as he thought.
With those routes, Viktor could move weapons into areas he had been blocked out of for years.
Territories slowly being choked by the Riley Crime Family.
His biggest competition.
A slow breath left his nose.
If he could secure an alliance with the Underpass network…
If he could cut the Rileys out of those territories completely…
Then the balance of power in Gotham's arms trade would finally tip.
But the proposal his lieutenant described had one major flaw.
The cut although there was not a figure spoken, everyone knew what was described would be a heavy cost.
Viktor snorted quietly.
The Underpass Boss wanted far too much.
It was not sustainable.
No organization would willingly give away that much profit.
Which meant this meeting tonight wasn't just about partnership.
It was negotiation.
The sedan turned down a darker street near the industrial district.
Viktor looked out the rain-streaked window.
Everything hinged on this meeting.
Because anyone bold enough to provoke the Khadym Mob inside their own territory…
Either had a very good plan.
Or was about to die proving they didn't.
The sedan turned off the main road and into one of Gotham's cleaner districts.
The buildings here were newer. The sidewalks washed by the rain looked almost polished beneath the streetlights.
A far cry from the rusted warehouses and alleyways of the western docks.
The car slowed.
Then pulled smoothly into the parking lot of an upscale restaurant.
The second vehicle rolled in behind it.
Engines cut.
A bodyguard stepped out first, scanning the lot before opening Viktor Khadym's door.
Viktor stepped out into the cool night air.
His eyes moved immediately.
Two figures stood near the restaurant entrance.
They weren't dressed like typical security, but Viktor recognized the posture instantly.
Guards.
He walked toward the doors, his own men spreading out behind him as they entered the restaurant together.
The interior was warm and quiet.
Low lighting. Polished wood. Soft music drifting through the room.
But Viktor's attention was already elsewhere.
He noticed them immediately.
Men stationed near corners.
Near hallways.
By the stairs.
Watching.
Underpass men most likely, through some of them seemed familiar. And angry at seeing him?
Not dressed like soldiers.
But soldiers all the same.
Interesting.
One of them stepped forward politely.
"This way, Mr. Khadym."
Viktor said nothing as he was led toward the stairs.
His men followed.
They climbed to the second floor.
Then to the private dining level above.
As Viktor reached the top step—
He stopped, more guards stood along the walls.
And at the center of the room—
A man sat at a table laughing easily as he spoke with a woman seated across from him.
The woman turned slightly.
Viktor recognized her immediately.
His stomach tightened.
Anger surged through him like a sudden flame.
"What is the meaning of this?" Viktor demanded sharply.
The laughing man turned in his chair.
Quentin's face lit up with a bright, almost delighted smile.
"Perfect timing!"
He gestured casually toward the table.
"I was just telling Miss Riley here that we were expecting another guest."
Peyton Riley's chair scraped loudly against the polished floor as she stood.
Her eyes locked onto Viktor Khadym with naked fury.
"What the hell is he doing here?" she snapped.
Around the room, the shift was immediate.
Chairs moved.
Coats shifted.
Hands went inside jackets.
Metal flashed.
Guns began appearing on all sides of the room.
Khadym's men stepped forward instinctively, weapons rising. Riley's bodyguards mirrored them just as fast. Along the walls, the underpass guards tensed, hands already on their own firearms.
In seconds the private dining floor had transformed from an elegant meeting space into a powder keg.
The tension was suffocating.
All it would take was one nervous finger.
Quentin looked around slowly, raising his hands slightly as voices started rising.
Inside his mind, he muttered:
'…I may have underestimated how much they hate each other.'
Kieran exploded.
'Underestimated?!'
His voice thundered through the mindscape.
'UNDERESTIMATED MY ASS!'
'You just do whatever you want without a care in the world!'
'These people aren't like you, Quentin — they have pride!'
Quentin scoffed internally.
'I have plenty of pride.'
'That is not the same thing and you know it!' Kieran snapped.
'Give me the body for a moment. I can de-escalate this.'
Outside the mindscape the situation was getting worse by the second.
Viktor's men had their guns half raised.
Riley's guards were stepping forward aggressively.
The underpass soldiers along the walls were now fully armed.
Voices were overlapping.
"What kind of stunt is this?!"
"You think this is funny?!"
"You brought them here?!"
Quentin raised his hands higher.
"Alright, everyone just—"
"Don't move!" one of Khadym's men barked.
"Lower your weapons!" one of Riley's guards shouted back.
The room teetered on the edge.
Inside Nolan's mind, Kieran spoke again, calmer now but firm.
'Let me handle this.'
Quentin hesitated.
'You'll have it back the moment everyone calms down,' Kieran added.
'You don't have a subtle bone in your body.'
Quentin snorted.
'That is objectively false.'
Another gun clicked somewhere in the room.
Someone cursed loudly.
Quentin sighed internally.
'Fine.'
The shift happened instantly.
Quentin's relaxed posture straightened.
The grin disappeared.
The eyes changed.
Where Quentin carried arrogance and playful danger…
Kieran carried sharp, controlled intelligence.
He slowly raised both hands higher.
"Everyone stop."
His voice was different now.
Not loud.
But clear.
Measured.
Commanding enough to cut through the chaos.
"This meeting was not arranged to start a war."
His gaze moved first to Peyton Riley.
Then to Viktor Khadym.
"Both of you were invited here for the same reason."
He gestured calmly toward the table between them.
"Because if either of you fires a gun tonight…"
His eyes hardened slightly.
"…you'll both lose far more than you gain."
For a few seconds, no one moved.
The room remained frozen in a deadly standoff.
Weapons were still raised. Fingers rested against triggers. Every man in the room watched someone else, waiting to see who would make the first mistake.
Kieran kept his hands raised, his posture calm and steady.
He slowly turned his gaze toward Peyton Riley first.
"I understand there is a rivalry," he said evenly. "And I'm not asking either of you to give it up overnight."
His eyes then shifted to Viktor Khadym.
"But surely…"
He gestured lightly toward the elegant dining table between them.
"…you can have one conversation."
The soft light above the table reflected off polished glasses and a bottle of unopened wine waiting in a silver bucket.
"Over a nice meal," Kieran continued.
"And some wine."
His tone remained measured, almost conversational.
"Think of your people."
A few of the guards shifted slightly.
Kieran took a slow step toward the table.
"If a shootout starts here tonight…"
He looked between the two rival leaders.
"How many lives will be lost?"
His voice softened slightly.
"How many families ruined?"
Silence filled the room again.
"All because two leaders can't stand being in the same room together."
Kieran tilted his head slightly.
"How silly would that be?"
Peyton Riley's jaw tightened.
Viktor Khadym studied him carefully.
The tension remained thick—but it had changed.
The immediate edge of violence had dulled.
Kieran lowered his hands slowly.
"Come," he said calmly.
He gestured toward the chairs at the table.
"Sit."
Then his gaze settled directly on Viktor.
"Viktor."
A faint polite smile formed.
"Join us."
For a long moment no one moved.
Then Viktor Khadym slowly lowered his weapon.
Almost at the exact same time, Peyton Riley did the same.
The subtle motion rippled through the room.
Guards on both sides hesitated… then began lowering their guns as well.
Metal disappeared back beneath coats. Hands relaxed—though not fully.
The tension remained, but the edge of immediate violence had passed.
Viktor stepped forward first.
He approached the table with the measured confidence of a man used to command.
Peyton Riley followed, her eyes never leaving him.
Both leaders took seats across from each other.
Viktor leaned back slightly in his chair, irritation still visible in his expression.
"Make this quick," he said flatly to Kieran. "I have places to be."
Kieran gave a polite nod.
"Of course. Of course."
Around them, the remaining men slowly stepped back, though none of them left the room. They spread out along the walls again, watching everything carefully.
Then the shift happened.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
The posture changed.
The calm academic control in the eyes sharpened into something more amused. More predatory.
Quentin slid back into control of the body like a perfectly practiced performance.
He smiled brightly at the two crime bosses.
"Well!" he said cheerfully.
"I'm glad we got that figured out."
He reached for the bottle of wine sitting on the table and casually poured three glasses.
"Now that we're all comfortable…"
He pushed a glass toward each of them.
"I invited you both here today because we share a problem."
Peyton Riley frowned.
Viktor Khadym's eyes narrowed.
Quentin leaned back slightly in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass.
"A common enemy," he continued.
"One that has been bleeding all of us dry for far too long."
The two crime bosses spoke at almost the exact same time.
"What enemy?"
Quentin's smile widened.
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to pull them in.
"Tell me something…"
His eyes moved between them.
"Have either of you ever heard of…"
He paused for just a moment.
"…the Court of Owls?"
***
Rows of masked figures filled the circular stone room, their white owl masks glowing faintly beneath the dim chandeliers overhead. Shadows stretched long across the marble floor as whispers moved through the gathered members.
An emergency meeting of the Court of Owls had been called.
That alone made the atmosphere dangerous.
Heavy doors at the far end of the chamber opened.
Every conversation died instantly.
Jacob Kane entered.
The sound of his crutches echoed sharply against the marble floor.
Step.
Tap.
Step.
Tap.
The movement was slow, deliberate.
A bandage was visible beneath the dark fabric of his pant leg where the bullet had torn through muscle two nights prior. It wasn't a mortal wound—but it had been close enough to matter.
Close enough to humiliate.
Members of the Court shifted subtly as he approached the center of the chamber.
Jacob Kane was not a man they were accustomed to seeing injured.
His jaw was tight.
The anger radiating from him was palpable.
But it was controlled.
Barely.
He reached the central platform and stopped, adjusting his grip on the crutch as his eyes moved slowly across the gathered masks.
Dozens of Gotham's most powerful elites stared back.
The silence stretched.
Finally one of the older members spoke from the upper tier.
"We are glad to see you survived, Mr. Kane."
The voice echoed softly through the chamber.
Jacob's eyes snapped toward the speaker.
"You should be," he said coldly.
His voice carried across the room like a blade.
"Because whoever ordered that attack just declared war on the Court."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the chamber.
Another member leaned forward.
"You believe the attack came from within?"
Jacob's grip tightened slightly on the crutch.
"I know it did."
His voice was controlled—but the fury beneath it was unmistakable.
"That ambush was precise."
"Professional."
"Timed."
His gaze moved slowly across the masks again.
"Someone here wanted me dead."
Silence fell again.
Then another voice spoke.
Measured.
Cold.
"You're making a dangerous accusation."
Jacob's lips curled slightly.
"Am I?"
He tapped one crutch lightly against the marble.
"The attackers knew my route."
Tap.
"They knew my security rotation."
Tap.
"And they knew exactly when my car would arrive."
His eyes hardened.
"That information does not exist outside this room."
The chamber became deadly quiet.
Every masked face turned slightly… studying the others.
Trust inside the Court was already fragile.
Now it was cracking.
Finally a tall figure near the center rose slowly.
"The matter will be investigated," the masked member said calmly.
"The Court cannot allow internal betrayal."
Jacob stared at the figure for a long moment.
Then gave a tight, humorless smile.
"Oh I agree."
He leaned forward slightly on his crutches.
"Because whoever did this…"
His voice dropped.
"…didn't finish the job."
The anger he had been holding back bled through just enough to chill the room.
"And I intend to find them."
One by one the Court members began looking at each other again.
Suspicion had entered the room.
And once suspicion entered the Court of Owls…
It never left easily.