The car rolled smoothly through the wet streets, headlights cutting through the lingering rain as Gotham blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow.
Inside, it was quiet for a moment.
Dre sat in the passenger seat, one arm resting against the door, his brow slightly furrowed as he replayed the meeting in his head.
After a while, he glanced over.
"Did that actually go well?" he asked. "Because I'm not gonna lie, I couldn't really tell. By the end of it, they didn't seem like they cared… or even believed you about the Court."
Quentin, seated in the back, adjusted his cuff slightly before leaning back into the leather seat.
He shrugged.
"Honestly?" he said. "It didn't go exactly how I planned."
Dre turned a bit more toward him.
"I thought they'd understand the concept quicker," Quentin continued. "An organization like the Court—it's not that far-fetched when you've seen how power really works in this city."
He let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"But I think we've been a bit spoiled."
Dre raised an eyebrow.
"Working with people like Naima, Marcy… even Jiang," Quentin went on. "They already understand how things operate beneath the surface. They don't need it explained to them."
A small pause.
"These two?" he added. "They still think in straight lines. Territory, profit, retaliation. It limits their perspective."
Dre frowned slightly, looking back out the windshield.
"So the meeting was pointless then?"
Quentin's head tilted slightly, a faint smile forming.
"No," he said. "Not even close."
Dre glanced back again.
"At the very least," Quentin continued, "we got them thinking about trade. That alone makes the meeting worthwhile. Open routes mean money, and money keeps people talking to us."
He shifted slightly in his seat.
"And Madam Jiang just positioned herself as a potential partner in front of both of them. Whether they like it or not, she's now part of that conversation."
Dre nodded slowly.
"Either way," Quentin added, "we profit."
That made sense.
But Dre's frown didn't fully disappear.
"And the Court?" he asked. "If they didn't believe you, how does that help us?"
Quentin chuckled softly.
"That's the best part."
Dre looked over again.
"They'll spread it for us," Quentin said.
Dre blinked. "How? They didn't buy it."
Quentin shook his head slightly.
"It doesn't matter what Viktor and Peyton believe," he said. "It matters what their people heard."
Dre's expression shifted as he started to follow.
Quentin continued.
"They were so concerned about security that they packed that room with their own guards. Loyal, yes—but not disciplined in the way leadership is."
A faint grin tugged at his lips.
"You give a room full of soldiers a piece of strange, unsettling information like that… something secret, something powerful…"
He glanced out the window briefly before finishing.
"…and then you show them their bosses don't care about it?"
Dre's eyes narrowed slightly in understanding.
"They talk," Quentin said simply.
"Maybe not all of them. Maybe not right away. But one of them mentions it to someone they trust. Then that person passes it along. It turns into a rumor… then a story."
He leaned back, satisfied.
"And before long, the idea of the Court isn't mine anymore."
Dre let out a quiet breath.
"It's the streets'."
Quentin smiled.
"Exactly."
The car continued forward through the city.
Leaving the restaurant behind them.
The car cut cleanly through Gotham's streets, tires hissing softly against rain-slick pavement.
They moved through a few quiet intersections, taking controlled turns as the city shifted around them—industrial blocks giving way to cleaner streets, then back again as they angled toward the district where the Continental stood.
Inside, the mood had settled.
Dre focused on the road.
Quentin sat in the back, phone in hand, scrolling with casual indifference as if the meeting they had just walked out of hadn't involved two rival crime bosses and a room full of guns.
Another turn.
Then another.
The glow of the Continental's district was only a few minutes out.
That's when Dre slowed slightly.
Up ahead—
Barricades.
A roadblock, and construction signs.
No flashing lights. No city workers. Just vehicles positioned across the street at odd angles.
Dre frowned.
"That wasn't here earlier…"
He began easing his foot off the gas, instinct already telling him something was wrong. His hand moved to shift the car into reverse—
"Road's blocked," he muttered, starting to back up.
Only then did Quentin look up from his phone.
His eyes flicked forward.
Then sharpened.
"That road isn't supposed to be blocked."
The words came slower now.
He leaned slightly, glancing past Dre—
Then checked the rear window.
Headlights.
Multiple.
Closing distance.
Fast.
A beat.
"Shit."
"FLOOR IT, DRE!"
The moment snapped.
Vey surged forward into control seamlessly, the body shifting as if a switch had been flipped. The relaxed posture vanished, replaced with something sharper, more predatory.
One hand reached down, yanking open a concealed compartment beneath the seat.
A rifle came up smoothly.
Dre didn't hesitate.
The engine roared as he slammed his foot down, tires screeching as the car surged forward instead of reversing.
At the same time, he hit his phone.
"Marcy—pick up, pick up—"
The line clicked.
Connected.
Vey spoke instantly, voice cold and precise.
"We're about to get hit. We need interference immediately."
Dre cut in, sharper, faster.
"Western corridor—three blocks off the Continental route. We've got hostiles front and back. Get our people moving—anyone from the meeting, pull them in now!"
"On it," Marcy's voice came through, already moving.
Vey didn't wait.
He rolled the window down in one smooth motion and leaned out, rifle braced against the frame.
Gunfire erupted.
Controlled bursts ripped through the night, muzzle flashes lighting the rain as rounds slammed into the pursuing vehicles.
Sparks flew.
Glass spiderwebbed—
But didn't break.
"Bulletproof," Vey muttered under his breath.
The cars behind them held formation.
Closing.
Unshaken.
Vey pulled back in, eyes already shifting forward—
And that's when he saw it.
More vehicles.
Pulling out from side streets ahead.
Boxing them in.
His expression hardened instantly.
"Dre."
Vey closed his eyes briefly trying to hide his frustration.
"We've got a problem."
"Ram them."
Vey didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
Dre's foot slammed all the way down.
The engine howled as the car surged forward, speed climbing fast enough to make the frame vibrate. The blockade ahead loomed closer—two vehicles angled into a tight V, just enough space to make it look possible.
Not enough space to make it safe.
"Hold on," Dre muttered.
Impact came a heartbeat later.
Metal screamed.
The front of the car slammed into the gap, shoving between the two vehicles with brutal force. One spun slightly on impact, the other crumpled inward just enough to let them punch through.
The entire car jolted violently.
Vey braced hard against the door and dash, teeth clenched as the chassis rattled like it might tear itself apart.
Then they were through.
"Go, go, go—!"
Dre yanked the wheel to the right, tires screeching as they peeled off the main road into a narrower street.
Headlights flared behind them.
Still there.
Still chasing.
From the next intersection—
Two vans roared in, sliding into formation alongside them.
Doors burst open.
Gunfire erupted.
Their people.
Rounds tore down the street behind them, forcing the pursuing vehicles to adjust, to hesitate—but not stop.
"They're still on us!" Dre snapped.
The streets felt wrong.
Too empty.
No pedestrians. No late-night traffic. Just wet pavement and echoing gunfire.
"They cleared the area," Vey said coldly. "This is too well planned it isn't the gangs."
Dre's jaw tightened as he took another sharp turn.
Then another.
And another.
Vey's eyes moved constantly now—rearview, side streets, rooftops.
Something wasn't right.
"They're herding us," Dre said suddenly.
Vey saw it too.
Every turn had been forced.
Every route narrowing.
"Dead end," Dre muttered under his breath.
The realization hit at the same time—
A shadow dropped from above.
A heavy thud slammed onto the roof of the car.
Both men froze for half a second.
Then—
A blade punched through the metal ceiling with a violent shrink.
Rain sprayed through the fresh hole.
The knife twisted—
Then a hand followed.
It punched down through the weakened metal and tore outward with inhuman strength.
Vey moved instantly, bringing the rifle up—
Too late.
The window beside him exploded inward as glass shattered across the seat.
A gloved hand shot through, gripping the frame.
Vey twisted back, narrowly avoiding the follow-up strike as the figure forced its way down from the roof.
Dre swore loudly.
"Not good—not good!"
Vey's expression hardened as he caught a glimpse of pale skin, darkened veins, and eyes that didn't look human.
"Fuck."
Recognition hit immediately.
"A Court assassin."
Another blade slid through the torn roof.
Kane wasn't being subtle anymore.
Vey's grip tightened on the rifle as the creature forced its way further inside.
"Kane wants us out of the picture."
And judging by the setup—
He had every intention of finishing it tonight.
***
The car ride was quieter this time.
Not peaceful—never that—but controlled.
Jacob Kane sat in the backseat, one hand resting against his cane, the other loosely holding his phone as the city moved past the tinted windows.
His leg throbbed beneath the bandage.
A steady, irritating reminder.
The phone rang.
He glanced at the screen once before answering.
"Yes."
The voice on the other end didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Why were the Talons activated without a vote?"
Kane's expression didn't change.
"I wasn't aware," he replied coolly, "that I needed a vote to eliminate someone we've already attempted to remove."
A brief silence.
Then—
"That is not the point."
Kane's grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"I thought your focus was internal," the voice continued. "You made quite the display about a traitor within the Court."
Kane looked out the window, watching the city lights streak past.
"It is," he said.
"Then explain the point of this."
There was a faint edge now.
Suspicion.
Kane's lips curved slightly into a thin smirk.
"Kieran Everleigh has been causing problems for some time," he said. "Expanding too quickly. Interfering in places he doesn't belong. Drawing attention."
A pause.
"Too much attention."
The voice on the other end didn't respond immediately.
Kane continued anyway.
"Removing him simplifies things."
His tone remained calm. Reasonable.
"Once he's gone, I can focus entirely on finding the mole without… external complications."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then—
"You think he's involved?"
Kane's smirk deepened just slightly.
"Who knows?"
He shifted in his seat, adjusting his leg with a faint wince.
"It wouldn't be the first time someone like him reached higher than they should."
His gaze hardened as he looked out into the city.
"And if he is working with whoever orchestrated that attack…"
A small pause.
"…then I'm solving two problems at once."
The line stayed quiet for a moment longer.
Not agreement.
Not approval.
But not outright opposition either.
Which was enough.
Kane ended the call without another word.