Pietro kicked his heel against the wooden floorboards, tugging hard at the stiff collar of his dark wool coat.
"These shoes are ridiculous," Pietro muttered, looking down at the polished black leather on his feet. "The soles don't bend. I can't sprint in these."
Wanda stood by the coat rack, smoothing the front of a warm, plain wool jacket. She gave her brother a dry look. "You aren't supposed to sprint everywhere, Pietro. For once, you look like a normal person instead of a street thief."
"I like moving fast," Pietro grumbled.
"You can run after we finish the meeting," Adrian said, buttoning his black coat and checking his cuffs in the hall mirror. "We aren't hiding in train yards anymore. Power in this city doesn't last if people only see you as another guy with a gun. Real control needs paperwork, offices, and laws."
Pietro sighed, rolling his shoulders, but he didn't complain again.
Across town, City Hall was in an absolute panic.
Inside the grand stone building in the center of Novi Grad, Mayor Milan Kolarov was sweating through his white collar. He paced behind his wide mahogany desk, shouting at a terrified clerk holding an armful of folders.
"What do you mean Grigori isn't picking up the radio?" Kolarov yelled, slamming his open hand onto the wood. "Where are his trucks? Where is the militia?"
"His men surrendered, Mr. Mayor," the clerk stammered, trembling. "The northern warehouse is empty, the illegal brewery was cleaned out, and the south ward... the south ward has power. The trains brought in tons of flour, and people are getting free rations every morning. The whole street is chanting someone named Kovac."
Kolarov's face turned white. He pulled a heavy leather suitcase out from under his desk and unlocked the steel wall safe behind him.
"It's a coup," Kolarov muttered, hurriedly stuffing stacks of German marks and foreign bearer bonds into the bag. "The military police abandoned us. Call the guards at the front gate. Tell them to lock the doors and shoot anyone who steps on the marble stairs."
"They won't need to shoot," a calm voice said from the doorway.
Kolarov froze, a stack of bills clutched in his hand.
The heavy double oak doors of the office clicked shut. Captain Vanev stepped inside, his uniform clean and his arms crossed, leaning his back against the wood.
Beside him stood Adrian.
The clerk gasped, dropping his folders onto the Persian carpet, and bolted out the small side door into the hallway.
Kolarov backed away until his spine hit the wooden paneling. "Vanev! What are you doing? Call the guards! Arrest this man!"
"The guards outside think we're official inspectors from the capital, Milan," Adrian said evenly, pulling out a leather chair and sitting down across from the desk. "Put the money in the bag and sit down. We have work to do."
Kolarov tried to stand tall, his chest puffing out with fake bravado. "Do you have any idea who I am? I have friends in the Ministry of Defense. You think you can walk in here with a corrupt militia captain and take this city?"
Adrian leaned forward and looked straight into Kolarov's eyes.
"Look at me," Adrian said softly.
He reached out with Cassandra Nova's telepathy.
He didn't crush Kolarov's mind. Leaving a broken, drooling politician in City Hall would bring state investigators from the capital within a week. Instead, Adrian worked with light, surgical precision. He dug past Kolarov's greed and fear, quietly rewriting the man's core thoughts.
Adrian Kovac is a visionary reformer sent with massive foreign backing to rebuild Sokovia. Handing him full authority over the city is your only way to save your career, keep your money, and stay out of prison.
Kolarov's eyes twitched.
The terror on his face melted away. His shaking hands relaxed, and he set the stack of bills down on the blotter. When he looked back at Adrian, his eyes were clear, but filled with deep, hurried respect.
"Director Kovac," Kolarov said, letting out a long breath and wiping his brow. "I apologize for the mess. The city... it's completely falling apart. The central government forgot about us months ago. We need someone who actually knows how to run things."
"Then make it legal," Adrian said, sliding a blank executive order across the desk.
Kolarov grabbed his fountain pen without hesitation. He filled in the blanks and pressed the heavy brass seal of Novi Grad onto the wax at the bottom: Special Director of Municipal Reconstruction and Public Safety.
"This gives you full authority over public works, the city budget, and the municipal police," Kolarov said, handing the paper back with both hands. "What do you need first?"
"Keep your seat, sign the budgets I give you, and smile for the cameras," Adrian said, standing up and taking the document. "I'll handle the rest."
Over the next month, the face of Novi Grad changed completely.
Adrian didn't hoard the wealth he had taken from HYDRA's secret accounts. He funneled twenty million dollars through clean European investment firms directly into the city treasury.
Work crews moved through every street. Old, cracked water mains were dug up and replaced with fresh pipes. Three public clinics in the worker wards opened their doors, fully stocked with clean bandages and imported penicillin. The city power plant fired up around the clock, burning high-grade coal brought in by rail.
Adrian hired three thousand out-of-work factory laborers for public repair crews, paying them double what the criminal gangs had offered.
The dirty neighborhood militias were disbanded. Men who wanted an honest paycheck were given blue municipal police uniforms, steady salaries, and strict orders: protect the people, keep the roads clear, and take zero bribes.
By the end of December, the sound of gunfire in the valley was gone. The citizens didn't care about party politics or foreign treaties. They knew who turned the heat on, who brought the flour, and who made the streets safe to walk at night. Adrian Kovac was no longer just an administrator; he was the hero of Novi Grad.
December 31, 2007.
Midnight was approaching. Adrian stood on the stone balcony of his new office on the top floor of City Hall, his hands resting on the cold marble railing.
Snow drifted down through the dark sky, dusting the slate roofs below.
Down in Freedom Square, the whole city was alive. Thousands of people were gathered around a massive public bonfire, drinking spiced wine, laughing, and singing along with street accordions. Streetlamps glowed bright yellow across every boulevard, and warm light poured from every apartment window in the valley.
The balcony door clicked open.
Wanda walked out into the cold air, holding two steaming ceramic mugs of spiced cider. She handed one to Adrian, leaning her side against the stone wall.
"Pietro is down by the fountain," Wanda said, smiling faintly. "He's trying to dance with a girl from the bakery, but his new dress shoes keep slipping on the ice."
Adrian took a sip of the warm cider. "He needs to learn to take his time."
"Listen to them," Wanda said softly.
Down in the square, a group of factory workers raised their glasses toward the lit windows of City Hall, shouting a loud toast to Director Kovac that echoed against the stone buildings.
"A month ago, we were freezing in a hole under a bomb," Wanda murmured, looking at Adrian with serious, quiet eyes. "Now they're celebrating in the streets because of you."
"It's easy to make people cheer when the radiators are hot and the bread is fresh, Wanda," Adrian said calmly, glancing down at his watch. "The hard part is keeping them safe when the real world comes knocking."
The second hand on his watch ticked past the mark: 11:59:59.
BONG.
The giant bell inside the cathedral tower rang out across the valley. Fireworks burst over the square, painting the snowy sky in red and gold.
January 1, 2008.
Deep in the center of Adrian's mind, a clear, silent chime rang out.
[Annual Sign-In available. Would you like to sign in?]
Adrian set his mug down on the stone railing, his eyes sharp and focused.
"Sign in."