Tires rolled slowly along the darkened road, rubber whispering against cracked asphalt. Behind the wheel, a man kept his eyes moving—mirrors, corners, the empty stretch ahead—watching for headlights that lingered too long or shapes that didn't belong.
The car eased to a stop near the warehouse.
The passenger door opened first. Terrell stepped out, jacket already unzipped, hands visible, posture relaxed in a way that was anything but. A moment later the rear doors opened and two more men climbed out, spreading naturally, like they'd done this a hundred times before.
No one spoke.
The warehouse loomed near the river, its metal skin streaked with rust and grime, windows painted black from the inside. Light leaked out from beneath the loading bay door, cutting thin lines across the pavement.
Men were waiting.
Green-accented jackets. Jade pins small enough to miss if you didn't know what to look for. One leaned against a pallet just inside the bay, another stood near a forklift idling quietly, its engine ticking like a patient clock.
A man with slicked-back hair stepped forward, a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Stitch," he said. "Good to finally see you."
Terrell gave a short nod and offered his hand. "Same."
The shake was brief. Firm. A transaction more than a greeting.
One of Terrell's people moved past him and hooked a pry bar under the edge of a nearby crate. He didn't rush it. Wood groaned as the lid came free, nails squealing softly before giving up.
Inside were rifles, wrapped and boxed. Sidearms stacked beneath them. Ammunition sealed in plastic, clean and dry.
Nothing exotic. Nothing flashy.
Terrell leaned in just enough to get a good look, eyes scanning, cataloging. "Looks like what you said it'd be."
The Leopard shrugged. "We don't move junk."
He paused, then added casually, "Haven't seen your boss around lately."
Terrell straightened, expression unchanged. "Busy man," he said. "Lot going on in this city."
The Leopard smiled, thin and knowing. "Yeah. That's what I hear."
Terrell met his eyes and held the look just long enough for it to register.
"Then let's keep this quick," he said. "For everyone's sake."
Crates slid across the concrete, boots scraping as men fell into a rhythm. Forklift tines lifted, backed, turned. No one hurried, but no one wasted time either.
Terrell leaned against the open trunk, watching the last of the boxes disappear inside.
"City's been… quiet," the Jade Leopard said, stepping up beside him. He had a cigarette between his fingers now, flame cupped briefly before the tip glowed. "Since the war. Since the alliance."
Terrell hummed. "Quiet don't mean calm."
The Jade exhaled, smoke drifting low. "That's what worries me. Nobody's pushed us. Nobody's tested lines. That usually means someone's waiting."
"Or counting," Terrell said. "Seeing who flinches first."
The Jade nodded, eyes following the men at work. "Yeah."
He took another drag, then glanced sideways. "I was there. Chinatown."
Terrell's gaze didn't shift. "A lot of people were."
"Not like that," the Jade said. "I saw what your people did. The way it moved. Way too clean for a street fight." He hesitated, then smirked. "What's it like, working for a boss that terrifying?"
Terrell shrugged, easy. "He's not that scary."
The Jade barked a short laugh. "Come on. They say the boss of the Underpass is mentally insane. Like… broken. Unpredictable."
Terrell stepped forward as the final crate thudded into place. He reached out and clapped the Jade on the shoulder—friendly, firm, just enough pressure to make the point.
"Better keep those opinions to yourself," he said evenly.
The Jade's smile faded a fraction. "Yeah. Fair enough."
Terrell closed the trunk. The latch finally clicked and his people began to prepare for transport as he sent a text out to Marcy.
"Pleasure doing business," he added.
And just like that, the conversation was over.
***
The room smelled faintly of coffee, it wasn't the worst smell ever.
Nolan stood at the head of the table, hands braced on the glass surface, Gotham projected out beneath his palms in layers of light and data being streamed from the laptop nearby.
Marcy leaned against the console to his right, tablet tucked under her arm. Naima sat with her back straight, arms folded, eyes fixed on the map like she was already fighting through it. Dre paced, slow and restless, never staying still for long.
"We're dancing around it," Dre said finally, stopping. "We know Maria Powers is dirty. Biggest hotel chain in the city, money everywhere, influence everywhere. You take her off the board, you shake the whole damn table."
Naima didn't look at him. "Or you tip it over and get crushed underneath it."
Dre frowned. "You saying we do nothing?"
"I'm saying we watch," Naima replied calmly. "We already have taps out. Phones, financials, second and third-degree contacts. You don't cut a head off a hydra until you know how many grow back."
Nolan listened, eyes moving as the map shifted under his fingers.
"Court doesn't move alone," Naima continued. "They hide behind boards, shell companies, charities, old favors. We let them talk. Let them get comfortable. Then we pull the thread that unravels all of it."
Dre exhaled through his nose. "That takes time."
"Time keeps people alive," she shot back.
Marcy's tablet vibrated.
She glanced down, thumb moving once as she opened the message.
Terrell.
Got the shipment. What route's clean right now?
Marcy flicked to another screen, traffic feeds and police movement overlays snapping into place. A few intersections pulsed red. Others dimmed green.
She typed without looking up.
Take Burnside east, cut under the tracks, then peel south. Patrols are thick near the river.
Send.
She locked the tablet again and looked back to the table like nothing had interrupted.
Nolan finally spoke. "Naima's right."
Dre turned toward him. "You're sure?"
"We don't strike Powers yet," Nolan said. "We learn who walks through her doors when they think no one's watching. Who calls her when things go wrong. Or who se calls."
He straightened, meeting each of their eyes in turn.
"The Court thinks they're invisible," he continued. "That's their strength. That's also their weakness."
The map shifted again, a web slowly tightening around the city.
"When we move," Nolan said quietly, "we don't just hit one name."
He paused.
A silent conversation playing out inside his head. His people watched and waited for him to continue.
"Yes." He whispered, "That could work."
"Naima is right we don't want to risk our people. Dre is right as well, we can't wait to counterattack at every turn, we also can't get information if we can't force them to give it to us. It could take weeks maybe months for us to get anything useful." He stopped his fingers playing across the glass
A smirk split across his lips, "The trick is getting someone from the court to act and make a mistake without the court knowing it was us."
He took his phone from his pocket and dialed a number, "Good afternoon Maria, I was wondering if you would like to continue our conversation from the gala sometime soon?"
"I'm surprised you called Kieran. But, I can't say I'm upset about you reaching out, I would be delighted to continue our conversation. Just name the time and place."
"How about tomorrow,"
The smile splitting his face was uncanny.