The switch came so naturally now it was almost instinct. One moment Nolan was pacing the quiet corridor, and the next Kieran Everleigh smoothed the lapel of his suit, calm and collected, knocking firmly on the suite door.
A pause. Silence stretched. Then the latch clicked, and the door opened just enough for a young woman's sharp eyes to fix on him.
Kieran smiled easily. "Cheshire, I presume?"
She didn't answer right away, only studied him. Finally, she said, "Yes. What do you want?"
Kieran extended a hand, polished and practiced. "Kieran Everleigh. Owner of this fine establishment. It's a pleasure to formally meet you. May I come in?"
Her gaze flicked down at his hand, unimpressed. She didn't take it. Instead, she pushed the door wider and stepped back into the room.
Kieran let the rejection roll off him with a faint smile, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind him.
She moved with deliberate poise, her eyes scanning the suite. "It's a nice room."
"One of our best," Kieran agreed smoothly. "And you haven't even had the chance to sample some of our finer accommodations."
Her head tilted. "Such as?"
He clasped his hands loosely in front of him. "For example—should you ever find yourself injured on the job, the Continental is always prepared to patch you back together. Discretion guaranteed. As long as…" His smile sharpened. "…you follow our rules. Very simple."
She gave a small, amused scoff. "Yes, I was briefed on the rules. Do you honestly believe people in my line of work will follow them?"
Kieran chuckled, unbothered. "Maybe not all. But when someone of your stature, from your organization, is seen following? Others tend to follow suit. Rule breakers are…troublesome, wouldn't you agree?"
At that, she eased into a chair by the small table, crossing one leg over the other. "Ah. So that's what you're here for. The League."
Kieran inclined his head. "Naturally. It would be… mutually beneficial for my hotel to foster a healthy relationship with your people. I'm always seeking to expand my client base, after all."
Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes stayed cold. "And the League, of course, is always interested in safe harbors. But hospitality has its limits, Mr. Everleigh. Don't think for a second that a fine room and patched-up wounds are enough to keep us content."
Kieran matched her smile with one of his own, equally thin. "Then perhaps we'll find what contentment looks like together, in time. My doors remain open. To friends who respect them."
A moment of silence lingered, the two of them sitting in the rich, heavy air of the suite both polite, both guarded, both aware they were testing the edges of one another's patience and interest.
Cheshire leaned back in the chair, arms folding loosely. Her eyes never left him.
"Not curious to know what I'm in town for?"
Kieran shook his head, unhurried. "The Continental isn't concerned with what jobs you're here for, nor what you're doing beyond these walls. Our only concern is the satisfaction of our clients."
Her lips quirked, almost taunting. "Even if the job includes taking out people in your… organization?"
For the first time, Kieran paused. The smile stayed, though thinner now, sharpened at the edges. He tilted his head, studying her as though she were an amusing puzzle.
"Well," he said lightly, "that wouldn't be very kind. Especially after how hospitable we've been. Though I assure you…" his eyes glinted, "…there are measures in place to stop such folly."
The room went still, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass windows pressing in on their silence. Cheshire smirked faintly, as if she'd gotten the reaction she wanted.
"You're a careful man, Mr. Everleigh."
"Careful," Kieran repeated smoothly, "keeps the walls standing."
Their conversation drifted, circling without landing. She pressed for little cracks, asking vague questions, while Kieran's answers remained politely impenetrable, always leading back to the comfort and neutrality of the Continental.
At last, Kieran straightened his cuffs and offered a shallow bow of the head.
"Good day, Cheshire. I do hope your stay here proves… pleasant."
She leaned back, legs crossed, eyes watching him like a cat toying with prey. "We'll see."
Kieran turned, pulled open the suite door, and stepped out into the hushed hallway. The latch clicked shut behind him. For a long moment, he stood there, the practiced smile lingering before fading as Nolan's sharper edges bled back through.
The League in Gotham. And now, in his hotel.
***
The Batcave hummed with quiet machinery, the glow of towering monitors casting long shadows across the stone walls. Batman stood rigid at the console, eyes scanning the endless streams of data flickering across the screens: gang names, family crests, movement charts, shipping manifests, intercepted communications. Each one a puzzle piece sliding into the larger picture.
Robin leaned on the chair beside him, still in costume fresh from his last mission with the Young Justice squad. He glanced at the screens, frowning.
"So… what exactly are you digging through, B?"
Batman didn't turn. His voice was low, clipped. "Gotham is about to enter a period of possible war."
Robin blinked. "War?"
Batman tapped a sequence on the console. A series of organizational charts rearranged themselves across the monitors: Penguin's network, the Falcones, the Hammers, the Whisper gang, and at the center—highlighted in red—the Underpass.
"With Black Mask gone," Batman continued, "the balance of power collapsed. The Underpass absorbed his operations overnight. They're an untested organization made up of Gotham's homeless resourceful, but unstable." He brought up surveillance images of Quentin meeting his lieutenants, tunnels being dug, caches of weapons. "That made them a target."
Robin whistled low. "And the others don't like it when someone new muscles in."
Batman's jaw tightened. He keyed in another command. New feeds popped up arrest reports, encrypted chatter, grainy photos of men in suits whispering at docks and bars. "Falcone's men probing the East End. The Hammers nosing around the Narrows. Whisper gang sniffing at the railroads. Everyone wants what the Underpass took from Black Mask. But none of them want each other to have it."
He turned to another cluster of monitors. Arkham files filled the screen: Scarecrow, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and more all marked escaped.
Robin's expression grew more serious. "And with Arkham's inmates back out there…"
"Crime is brewing," Batman finished. "The organizations are moving into position. If they collide, Gotham will erupt in a gang war on a scale this city has never seen."
He leaned closer to the monitors, eyes sharp as he compared shifting data points. The map of Gotham pulsed with red markers territory disputes waiting to ignite.
Robin crossed his arms. "So… you need Young Justice's help to stop this?"
Batman didn't answer at first. His gloved fingers flew across the console, pulling up predictive models, lines of probability branching across the map like veins. At last, he spoke without looking away from the screens.
"There might be a mission for Young Justice soon. But Gotham…" His voice hardened. "…I can handle my city."
The cave was silent except for the quiet rush of computers, the faint drip of water in the distance. Robin watched the data spiral across the screens, unease tugging at him.
Batman was already preparing for a war that hadn't yet started.