The shadow that had followed him since the alley finally revealed itself. On a rooftop, silhouetted against neon glow, a figure extended a hand.
"You've proven yourself," the voice said. "The city sees you. But seeing is not surviving."
A card dropped into Waxwell's hand. Ascend. The weight of the city pressed down—its lights, its noise, its endless observers. Waxwell pocketed the card, heart pounding, mind calculating. This was not a gift; it was a challenge, an invitation to rise further.
He felt the thrill, the fear, and the pull of ambition all at once. The real fight was beginning—not against one opponent, but against the city itself. And Waxwell was ready.