Bang.
The echo of gunfire bounced off the walls of Nolan's dream like thunder rolling through a tight alley.
Bang.
Two bodies slumped in opposite directions. Blood pooled fast. He didn't look away. He couldn't.
But it wasn't just blood that spilled—it was silence. Deafening. Distant murmurs from his head were gone. Vey didn't speak. Quentin didn't comment. Kieran wasn't smirking. It was just Nolan, the smoking Glock still clenched in his hand, staring down at what he had done.
The silence cracked like glass.
"You've become everything they said you'd never be."
He turned. Sherry stood behind him, blood on her lips, eyes disappointed and dim.
Bang.
He shot again.
Nolan jolted awake in a cold sweat, breathing hard as the remnants of the dream scattered in his mind like ashes. His sheets were twisted, damp with sweat, the room dark except for the soft orange glow bleeding through the blinds. His muscles ached, not from guilt, but from how long he had been carrying it.
He sat up slowly, dragging a hand down his face. "It was just a dream," he muttered. But it wasn't. Not really. It was a replay, dressed up by his subconscious, clawing at his insides.
No voices greeted him. The silence stretched.
He stood, pulled on gym shorts and a worn hoodie, laced up his shoes, and left the suite. The elevator rattled slightly as it took him down to the small gym they'd carved out of one of the hotel rooms during early prep.
Inside, it was empty, lit by ceiling bulbs that buzzed faintly. Nolan didn't hesitate. He started with a warm-up: jump rope, pushups, light shadowboxing.
His body was still sore in places, but he could feel the difference. The bruises on his ribs had turned yellow and green, fading. The cut above his eyebrow was nearly gone now—just a thin pink line. His body wasn't shredded or anything yet, but his arms were starting to show hints of definition, like the ghost of strength waiting to be sculpted.
He threw himself into the workout pullups, planks, curls with free weights. Sweat dripped onto the mat as he pushed harder, chasing the edge where thought disappeared and pain became focus. A part of him wanted to stop, to just sit and breathe, but Vey had a saying: "Tired bodies make quiet minds."
When he finally dragged himself back upstairs, the sun was rising properly—soft and warm, peeking between the clouds. He showered, dressed in a clean shirt and dark jeans, and made a simple breakfast. Oatmeal. Eggs. Black coffee. Fuel, not comfort.
Then he moved to his desk.
He opened the laptop, logged into the secure dashboard tied to their charity front. The donation tracker pulsed with quiet confidence. New numbers. Thousands of dollars flowing in from names he didn't even recognize. The public narrative was working. Kieran's charm had spun the story just right a broken hotel, a man trying to rebuild something meaningful, a gesture of giving back to Gotham.
$287,751.
Nolan let out a low whistle, "Not bad."
He took a breath, cracked his knuckles, and pulled up a spreadsheet. Nolan had already sketched out a list of contractors, designers, and construction firms. Most were local. Some were… less official, better at working with little oversight. He clicked on the first contact a woman named Marnie LaSalle, known for flipping small apartments in Gotham's Narrows.
He called.
"Hello?"
"Ms. LaSalle, this is Kieran Everleigh. I'm looking for someone with your skill set for a renovation project something big. A hotel."
There was a pause. Then: "You're the charity guy, right? Arden?"
"That's me."
"You're gonna need permits, inspections, crews, equipment, budgeting…"
"I've got the money," Nolan said. "And I've got people who can help with the paperwork. I just need someone who can handle the build."
Another pause. "Send me the address. I'll stop by tomorrow and take a look."
He marked her down, then moved to the next name. Calls, emails, quick messages through burner apps. A rhythm formed quiet, focused, all business. He wasn't Kieran during these calls, not fully. Just efficient. A man trying to put the pieces together before they slipped through his fingers.
Midway through the list, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. The coffee had gone cold. His body ached from the gym, his head from the phone calls.
But the dream still clung to him. That echo of the gunshots, of Sherry's blood, of his own numbness.
"You okay Nolan?" Kieran asked quietly
Nolan hummed, "Not really but, I think I will be soon."
***
The morning sun filtered in through the tall windows of the Arden Hotel, casting pale light over the dust-covered floors and faded wallpaper. Nolan stood in the lobby, arms folded, watching the dust dance like ash in the beams of gold. He took a deep breath. This place reeked of forgotten wealth and lingering despair. But in his mind, he could already see it transformed bright, warm, and alive again.
The sound of boots echoed across the lobby floor. Marnie LaSalle stepped through the entrance, tablet in hand, her auburn hair pulled into a tight braid. She wore heavy-duty jeans, scuffed boots, and a dark denim jacket with a dozen ink smudges on the sleeves.
"Kieran," she said, with a nod and a dry smile. "The place still has bones, I'll give it that."
"You should've seen it a week ago. There were pigeons nesting in the penthouse bar," Nolan replied, gesturing for her to follow.
'Switch?' Kieran asked
'Switch'
It wasn't seamless Nolan's body staggered before straightening out, "You okay?" She asked and Kieran smiled, "Perfect."
He led her toward the elevator, then up to the 14th floor. The hallway was long and dimly lit, with faded carpeting and chipped woodwork. Marnie took notes as they walked.
"So, let me get this straight," she said as they entered one of the larger suites. "You're not looking to gut the place just refresh it?"
"Exactly," Nolan said. "Most of it is structurally fine. I want the carpets replaced, the walls patched up where they're peeling or cracked. Fix anything that's rotting or loose. Bathrooms can stay if they work, but check the plumbing."
"Efficient," Marnie said with a nod. "Saves money. What's your budget again?"
"Around two hundred," Kieran said without hesitation. "Give or take a few cents."
Marnie whistled. "Okay. With that, we're not talking luxury, but we can definitely give it a facelift. You'll want to stagger the floors. Start from the bottom up?"
"Actually," Kieran said, leading her deeper into the suite. "I was thinking we'd do the 14th and 15th floors first."
Marnie raised a brow. "Top-down approach?"
"There's… specific rooms I need handled. Here," he said, pointing to a wall between two rooms. "I want this one knocked down. I want to merge the two spaces and add a false partition expand one side, make it feel like a suite upgrade."
Marnie gave him a look. "You trying to hide something?"
Kieran smiled coolly. "I'm trying to be smart. Let's just say I want a few private spaces built behind the scenes storage, maybe, or panic rooms. That sort of thing."
"Hm." She tapped her stylus on the tablet. "As long as it's not illegal, I don't ask questions. That's how I work."
He nodded. "Good."
They moved through the next few rooms, and Kieran laid out their vision: which walls to knock down, which spaces to reinforce, which parts needed to be left untouched. Marnie listened, making sharp notes as she went.
Down in the lobby again, she paused at the old check-in desk.
"I can pull in a team as early as next week," she said. "You'll want to meet with the foreman once we get started—some of your designs might need structural adjustment."
"I'll be here," Nolan said. "Send everything through encrypted email."
Marnie gave him a final look. "You're doing something weird with this place."
"You misunderstand, I'm afraid of my designs leaking that's all," Kieran said, with a small, tired grin, "This is my baby after all."
She tilted her head. "Well… okay then."