Tires hummed softly against wet pavement as the car rolled through Midtown.
Nothing flashy. No armored panels, no tinted windows that screamed money. Just a clean, dark sedan that blended in with evening traffic, the kind of car no one remembered ten seconds after it passed. Kieran sat in the back, jacket open, watching Gotham slide by in a pleasant silence.
The lounge sat half a block off the main drag—low profile, warm lighting, a discreet sign that didn't bother advertising itself. The kind of place people went when they didn't want to be seen trying to impress anyone.
The car pulled in. Kieran stepped out, adjusted his cuffs once, and headed inside.
Music washed over him immediately—low, slow, heavy with bass but restrained. Conversations stayed muted, laughter soft, the air thick with expensive liquor and privacy. A man in a tailored suit met him near the door, already nodding.
"Mr. Everleigh."
Kieran returned the nod. No words were exchanged as he was led past the main floor and into a side corridor. A door opened. A private booth waited inside, upholstered in dark leather, walls curved just enough to make the rest of the world disappear.
He slid in and set his jacket beside him.
"Whiskey," he said lightly. "Neat."
The server vanished. Kieran leaned back, one arm draped along the booth, eyes drifting—not to the room, but to the subtle things. The timing of footsteps outside. The faint vibration of bass through the wall. Who lingered too long near the door.
The drink arrived. He took a sip, let it settle.
Five minutes passed.
Then the door opened again.
Maria Powers stepped in like she belonged anywhere she decided to be. Poised. Composed. Dressed elegantly without trying to look younger than she was or richer than she needed to be. Her eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing, before softening into a practiced smile.
Kieran stood.
"Maria," he said warmly.
He leaned in and gave her a brief, polite hug—nothing lingering, nothing intimate. Just enough to establish familiarity. She returned it easily.
"Kieran," she replied, settling into the booth across from him.
She glanced toward the server hovering near the door. "Vodka martini. Up."
The server nodded and disappeared.
Kieran sat back down, folding his hands loosely in front of him. "I'm glad you could make it. I know your schedule's… aggressive."
Maria smiled faintly. "For the right invitation, I can always find the time."
Her drink arrived. She took it, lifted the glass slightly in acknowledgment.
"To quiet places," she said.
Kieran lifted his own glass in return. "And productive conversations."
They drank.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The music hummed on, the city carried on just beyond the walls, and the booth held two people who both understood that nothing said here would be accidental.
Maria set her glass down first, fingers resting lightly against the stem.
"So," she said, casual, "I assume this isn't just a social call."
Kieran smiled. "I'd be offended if you thought I couldn't enjoy your company without an agenda."
She snorted softly. "Flattery already. You really are in hospitality."
He chuckled and took another sip. "Fair. I've been thinking about expansion. Nothing immediate—just… curious. You grew fast. Faster than anyone expected. I figured if anyone understood the pressure points, it'd be you."
Maria studied him over the rim of her glass.
"Fast growth is rarely luck," she said. "It's leverage. Timing. And knowing when not to build."
Kieran tilted his head. "That last part sounds like experience talking."
"It is." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Gotham only has so much oxygen. Build too much, too fast, and you start suffocating people who notice. That's when things get… complicated."
There it was. Not a threat. A reminder.
Kieran laughed easily, raising his hands a fraction. "Relax. I'm not trying to elbow anyone out. Honestly? If I expand, it won't be here."
Her brow lifted. "No?"
"Outside Gotham," he said. "Different cities. Different headaches. Gotham's lucrative, sure, but it's… crowded. And temperamental."
That seemed to please her more than she expected. She took a longer drink, shoulders easing.
"Smart," Maria said. "A lot of people mistake dominance here for permanence."
"And you don't?"
"I mistake it for work," she replied. "Constant work."
Kieran nodded. "That tracks."
A beat passed, then he shifted gears smoothly.
"How's the Powers Hotel holding up?" he asked. "I heard you renovated three floors without shutting down operations. That's impressive."
Maria exhaled, a real one this time. "A nightmare. Contractors lie, permits vanish, and everyone wants a favor. But it's done. And it's paying off."
"I envy that kind of scale," Kieran said. "The Continental's… particular. Expensive tastes. Vocal clientele."
She smiled knowingly. "Your guests don't complain to management. They complain with consequences."
"Occupational hazard," he said lightly.
They shared a brief, genuine laugh.
Conversation drifted—staff retention, insurance nightmares, zoning boards that seemed to exist solely to extract bribes. Maria talked about international investors sniffing around. Kieran countered with stories about Gotham regulators who pretended neutrality while clearly taking sides.
At one point, she leaned back and studied him again.
"You're careful," she said. "Most people in your position would already be trying to muscle into my territory."
"Because most people confuse ambition with impatience," Kieran replied. "I like sleeping indoors. Preferably without worrying who I annoyed that week."
That earned a small, approving nod.
"Just remember," Maria said, voice calm but firm, "Gotham rewards people who know where they belong."
Kieran raised his glass once more. "Then I suppose my job is figuring out where I fit best."
She clinked her glass against his.
"Exactly."
Maria swirled the ice in her glass, watching it catch the low amber light. The music in the lounge dipped just enough to give them a pocket of privacy.
Kieran leaned back slightly, then forward again, elbows resting easy on the table.
"Can I ask you something a little less polite?" he said.
She smirked. "You already have."
He met her eyes directly this time. Didn't look away. Didn't soften it.
"How did you keep control?" he asked. "Because the moment I hit a certain level, people started showing up. Advice. Opportunities. Pressure dressed up as partnership."
Maria didn't answer right away. She studied him, really studied him, like she was weighing whether honesty was worth the price.
Finally, she sighed. "Because you're not an old family."
There it was.
"You're new," she continued, tone matter-of-fact. "New money. New influence. To some people in this city, that makes you… meat. Something to be carved up before it learns how to bite back."
Kieran's expression didn't change, but something sharp flickered behind his eyes.
"And your solution?" he asked.
"Friends," she said simply. "The right ones. Gotham doesn't care how smart you are if you stand alone."
She tilted her head, curiosity slipping in. "So. Who's knocking on your door?"
A slow grin spread across Kieran's face.
"Careful," he said lightly. "That sounds suspiciously like fishing."
Maria laughed, unbothered. "Occupational habit."
He lifted his glass in mock surrender. "Fair enough. It's not exactly a secret—Jacob Kane reached out."
That did it.
For just a fraction of a second, her composure cracked. Not much. Just a tightening around the eyes, a pause too long before she masked it again.
"The Kane family is old," she said, recovering smoothly. "Deep roots. Deep pockets. They know how Gotham works."
Her pleasant smile returned, practiced and perfect. "They'd be… very helpful friends."
Kieran hummed, as if considering it for the first time. "Maybe. I'm not sure I like being folded into someone else's legacy."
"Legacy is just survival with better branding," Maria replied.
He laughed. "You make it sound so charming."
She leaned in slightly. "I make it sound realistic."
They held each other's gaze for a moment longer than necessary, both understanding the subtext without acknowledging it.
Kieran finally leaned back, breaking the tension.
"Well," he said, easy again, "I suppose it's comforting to know I'm not the only one who thinks Gotham eats the unprepared."
Maria raised her glass. "Welcome to the city."
They clinked once more—polite, friendly, and sharp as a knife under the table.
They stood at the same time, movements unhurried.
Kieran adjusted his jacket and offered his hand. Maria took it, the shake brief and firm—no lingering, no theatrics. Just enough to seal the conversation without pretending it had been more than it was.
"Thank you for the drink," she said pleasantly.
"Anytime," Kieran replied. "Safe travels."
He turned first, giving the booth back to the shadows, and made his way toward the exit. The doorman nodded as he passed, already signaling for his car. Within moments, Kieran was gone—absorbed by the quiet churn of the street outside.
Maria remained where she was for a beat longer, watching the empty space he'd left behind. Then she exhaled, smoothed the front of her dress, and rose.
Her heels clicked softly as she crossed the lounge. No rush. No glance back.
By the time she stepped out into the night, Kieran Everleigh was already halfway across Gotham.
****
Nolan stood at the head of the table, Terrell on his right, Naima on his left. The lights were low, angled down so they didn't glare off the surface. Everything that mattered sat in that pool of illumination.
The suit came first.
It lay flat on the table, segmented armor pieces arranged with careful precision. Matte black and gunmetal gray. Reinforced joints. Blade slots built into the forearms. The mask rested near the collar—featureless, predatory, unmistakable.
A Talon.
Not an imitation. Not a costume. This was as close to the real thing as Nolan's people could get without digging one up from the ground.
Terrell leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "That's unsettling," he muttered. "If I didn't know better, I'd think we were the ones sending assassins now."
"That's the point," Nolan replied calmly.
Naima didn't look at the suit. Her attention was on the photographs spread beside it.
Still frames. Time-stamped. Clean.
Kieran Everleigh entering the lounge-1400
Maria Powers entering—1418
Kieran exiting—1510
Maria exiting—1525
Different cars. Different directions. Just enough overlap to raise questions. Just enough separation to deny certainty.
"From the outside," Naima said, "it looks like a secret meeting. Well it kind of was."
"It looks like leverage," Terrell added. "Or suspicion. Depends who's watching."
Nolan nodded. "Both."
He reached out and slid another photo forward—taken at the gala. Jacob Kane, mid-conversation, his expression composed but his eyes cutting sideways toward Maria across the room. Not anger. Not panic.
Assessment.
"She didn't like that I spoke with Kane," Nolan said. "Or rather—Kane didn't like that I spoke with her."
Naima finally looked up. "So she's not as insulated as she pretends."
"No," Nolan agreed. "Which makes her useful."
He gestured to the far end of the table.
Blueprints. Floor plans. Layered transparencies marked with security rotations, camera cones, patrol timings. The Powers estate sprawled across the pages—old money architecture, renovated just enough to stay modern without losing its teeth.
Private security firms. Redundant systems. Panic rooms.
A fortress pretending to be a home.
Terrell whistled softly. "That's a lot of muscle for someone who 'runs hotels.'"
Nolan's mouth twitched. "Old families don't believe in being caught unprepared."
Naima studied the layouts, finger tracing a service corridor. "You're not planning a hit on her."
"No," Nolan said immediately. "Not yet."
Terrell glanced between them. "Then what's the suit for?"
Nolan rested his hands on the table, palms flat, grounding himself.
"Misdirection," he said. "Pressure, Maria will be a tool. We need to use her."
He tapped the Talon mask once.
"If Maria believes Kane suspects her… and Kane believes Maria is acting independently… they'll start looking inward."
Naima's eyes sharpened. "And if a Talon-shaped shadow shows up in the wrong place at the wrong time—"
"—they'll assume it's internal enforcement," Terrell finished. "Not an outside threat."
Nolan smiled faintly. "Exactly."
The room fell quiet again, the weight of it settling in.
"This doesn't end with Maria," Naima said carefully.
"No," Nolan replied. "But it might start something."
"Now the question is who do we take out to start the match, her husband who is also inside the court? or someone else. We need an ignition source."