For a moment, neither of them reacted. Peyton Riley and Viktor Khadym simply stared at Quentin in confusion and suspicion.
a hint of irritation added to the mix.
"What is that?" Peyton asked first, her voice sharp
"The Court of what?" Viktor added, frowning.
Quentin nodded slowly, as if he had expected that exact response.
"That's not unusual," he said calmly.
"In fact…" A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lip, "It's exactly the point."
He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass.
"The Court of Owls is not something you're supposed to know about."
His eyes moved between them, gauging their reactions.
"They don't operate like us."
"No territories."
"No visible hierarchy."
"No names on buildings. Though their members do."
He tapped the side of his glass lightly.
"They operate in the dark."
A subtle shift in the room.
Even the guards along the walls seemed to be listening more closely now.
Quentin leaned forward again.
"Gotham's politics? Influenced."
"Major businesses? Directed."
"Law enforcement priorities? Nudged."
He let that sink in for a moment.
"Entire organizations…"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"…controlled."
Peyton's expression hardened.
Viktor's eyes narrowed further.
Quentin continued, his tone still calm—but deliberate.
"They don't fight wars in the streets."
"They don't announce themselves like us."
"They don't need to."
He gestured lightly between the two of them.
"They let groups like yours build power."
"Expand."
"Compete."
"Bleed."
A small pause.
Then—
"And when you become too independent…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"…they remind you who actually owns the city."
The air in the room grew heavier.
Peyton Riley leaned forward slightly.
"You're saying some secret group is controlling us?" she asked, skepticism laced with irritation.
Quentin didn't flinch.
"I'm saying," he replied smoothly, "that when your shipments get intercepted at just the wrong time…"
"When your operations suddenly face pressure from inspectors, police, or regulators out of nowhere…"
"When opportunities vanish before you can capitalize on them…"
His eyes flicked to Viktor.
"…or when expansion routes mysteriously close despite no visible opposition…"
He let the implication hang.
"That's not bad luck."
Silence.
Viktor's expression had shifted.
Subtly.
He didn't speak—but he was thinking.
Quentin saw it and pressed his opportunity.
"They stay hidden."
"They stay untouchable."
"Because no one knows they exist."
A slow smile returned.
"But now you do."
He spread his hands slightly.
"And that…"
His voice dropped just enough to carry weight.
"…is a problem for them."
The room fell quiet again.
This time not from tension.
But from realization beginning to take hold.
Viktor let out a quiet scoff, leaning back in his chair as he studied Quentin with open skepticism.
"That's a compelling story," he said, his tone measured but dismissive. "But I've been operating in this city far longer than you, and I've never once heard of anything resembling a 'Court of Owls.'"
He tapped a finger lightly against the table, eyes narrowing.
"You're describing an invisible power that supposedly controls everything, yet somehow leaves no trace. No names, no witnesses, no evidence. That's not power—that's mythology."
Across from him, Peyton Riley didn't interrupt. She remained still, her gaze shifting between the two men, clearly weighing the argument rather than dismissing it outright.
Viktor continued, leaning forward slightly now.
"And even if I humor you for a moment—what exactly is the point of this meeting? You expect us to help you fight this… shadow organization?" He gave a faint, incredulous shake of his head. "You're talking about taking on something you claim controls all of Gotham. That's not strategy. That's fantasy."
Quentin didn't react with irritation or defensiveness. Instead, he smiled—calm, almost entertained—and took a slow sip of his wine before setting the glass back down with deliberate care.
"If I were in your position," he began evenly, "I would say the exact same thing. A hidden group pulling strings from the dark, influencing entire systems without being seen—it sounds absurd when you say it out loud."
He leaned back in his chair, posture relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp.
"I'm not asking you to believe me outright. In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't. Blind belief isn't useful here."
That earned a subtle shift in Peyton's expression.
Quentin turned his attention back to Viktor.
"What I am asking," he continued, "is whether you've noticed certain… inconsistencies over the years. Shipments that disappear without a clear culprit. Interference that doesn't align with any known rival. Pressure from institutions that shouldn't even be looking in your direction."
Viktor didn't respond, but there was the slightest pause—just enough to notice.
Quentin let that silence breathe before continuing.
"These aren't isolated incidents. They form a pattern, but it's a pattern that's easy to ignore because it never points to anything concrete. That's by design."
He shifted his gaze to Peyton.
"The same applies to you. Deals that collapse without warning. Opportunities that vanish at the last second. Not because someone outmaneuvered you in a visible way, but because something quietly closed the door before you could walk through it."
Peyton's expression hardened slightly, though she still said nothing.
Quentin folded his hands loosely in front of him.
"I'm not asking either of you to join me in some grand crusade," he said. "That would be unrealistic, and frankly, unnecessary at this stage."
Viktor frowned slightly at that.
Quentin's voice lowered just a fraction, enough to draw their full attention.
"The reality is, whether you acknowledge it or not, you're already entangled in this. The pressure you've both been experiencing isn't random, and it isn't just competition. It's control—applied carefully, subtly, and over time."
He leaned forward slightly, his expression sharpening.
"And that control is tightening."
The room had gone completely still now.
Quentin let a small, knowing smile return.
"So no, Viktor—I'm not asking you to help me fight them."
He paused just long enough for the words to settle.
"I'm telling you that if nothing changes, you won't have a choice."
For a few moments after Quentin finished speaking, neither Viktor nor Peyton said anything.
The weight of his words lingered in the air, unwelcome but not entirely dismissed.
Viktor leaned back again, his expression guarded now rather than openly skeptical. Peyton remained still, her fingers lightly resting against the stem of her glass, her mind clearly turning over everything that had just been said.
Quentin watched them both, then gave a small, almost dismissive wave of his hand.
"But," he said smoothly, his tone shifting, "set that out of your minds for a moment."
The tension in the room loosened—slightly.
"This conversation doesn't need to become philosophical."
He reached for the bottle again, topping off his glass with an easy, practiced motion.
"We should talk business."
That, at least, was familiar territory.
Predictable.
Safe.
Quentin set the bottle down and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.
"I understand something very clearly," he continued. "Your organizations are not going to work together. Not today, not tomorrow, and likely not ever. I'm not naive enough to pretend otherwise."
Viktor gave a faint nod at that.
Peyton's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't argue it.
Quentin inclined his head slightly, acknowledging both of them.
"However," he went on, "I also believe neither of you would disagree that recent events have… complicated things."
That was putting it lightly.
"The war ended," Quentin said, "but it didn't leave stability behind. It left gaps. Disruptions. Supply lines that haven't fully recovered. Territories that are still shifting."
Viktor's gaze sharpened slightly.
Peyton leaned forward just a fraction.
Now they were listening.
Quentin's voice remained calm and measured.
"Times are difficult. Not catastrophic—but inefficient. And inefficiency costs all of us money."
A simple truth.
One neither of them could argue.
He folded his hands together on the table.
"So instead of forcing an alliance that will never exist, I'm proposing something far more practical."
A brief pause.
"A compromise."
Viktor's eyes narrowed slightly.
Peyton tilted her head.
Quentin continued.
"There are routes in this city that neither of you can fully utilize without provoking the other. Bottlenecks created purely because of your rivalry."
He gestured lightly between them.
"Routes that sit underused, or are contested to the point of diminishing returns."
He let that settle before finishing.
"I can open those routes."
That got their attention.
"Not by forcing you to cooperate," Quentin clarified, "but by acting as the intermediary neither of you trust the other to be."
Silence fell again—but this time, it was different.
Not hostile.
Calculating.
Quentin gave a faint smile.
"You don't need to like each other."
His eyes moved between them.
"You don't even need to trust me."
Another small pause.
"You just need to recognize that there's money being left on the table… and I'm offering a way to pick it up without starting another war."
Viktor exhaled slowly through his nose, his fingers tapping once against the table.
Peyton leaned back, her gaze thoughtful now rather than tense.
Now it was time to bring in the ringer, "I believe an associate has just arrived." Quentin said turning his head to see someone walking to the top floor
"Meet madam Jiang."
***
The room Maria Powers sat in was far more refined than the underground chamber of the Court.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Gotham's skyline, the city lights reflecting softly against polished marble and dark wood. A stark contrast to the cold paranoia festering beneath it.
Maria stood near the window, a glass of wine untouched in her hand as she listened to the conversation unfolding behind her.
"He's overreaching."
One of the masked associates—though unmasked here, among "trusted" company—spoke with clear irritation.
"Accusing members of the Court without evidence? It's reckless."
Another nodded. "Jacob Kane has always been… aggressive, but this—this is something else."
Maria said nothing at first.
She let them talk.
Let the frustration build naturally.
Only then did she turn, her expression composed, voice calm and measured.
"Kane is acting foolish," she said.
The room quieted slightly as attention shifted to her.
"Anyone with enough time and resources could have mapped his route," she continued, setting her glass down gently. "Patterns exist, whether we like it or not. Security rotations, habits, preferred exits… none of it is as invisible as he seems to believe."
A few heads nodded.
It was reasonable.
Logical.
"And let's not pretend," Maria added, her tone sharpening just slightly, "that he shares his security details with the Court. He doesn't."
That drew a few knowing looks between the others.
Of course he didn't.
Jacob Kane trusted very few people.
Maria took a slow step forward.
"So this idea that the attack must have come from within…" she let out a faint, almost incredulous breath. "It's convenient, isn't it?"
The seed was planted.
One of the men frowned. "Convenient how?"
Maria met his gaze evenly.
"It gives him justification."
A pause.
"To start looking inward."
Silence.
Another member leaned forward slightly. "You're suggesting—"
"I'm suggesting," Maria interrupted smoothly, "that this creates a perfect opportunity for him."
Her eyes moved across the room, making sure each of them felt included in what she was saying.
"An opportunity to question loyalties."
"To investigate members."
"To… remove individuals he already views as problematic."
Now the room shifted.
Subtly—but unmistakably.
Maria's voice softened, almost sympathetic.
"We all know how influence works within the Court. Power isn't static. It shifts. Some members grow more prominent over time… more influential politically, financially…"
Her gaze lingered just a second longer on a couple of individuals before moving on.
"…more threatening."
No one spoke.
Because now?
Now it felt personal.
Maria let the silence stretch before delivering the final push.
"If I were in his position," she said carefully, "and I felt my authority beginning to be challenged…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"I might see this as an opportunity to correct that."
The implication landed exactly where it needed to.
A quiet tension spread through the room—not directed at her…
…but at an absent man.
One of the associates spoke again, more cautious this time.
"You think he would go that far?"
Maria gave a small, measured smile.
"I think Jacob Kane does what he believes is necessary."
A beat.
"And right now, he believes someone tried to kill him."
She let that sit.
Then added, almost as an afterthought—
"People in that position don't become less dangerous."
Silence filled the room again.
But it was different now.
Heavier.
Doubt had taken root.
And just like in the chamber below…
Once it started spreading—
It would be very difficult to stop.