Nolan pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation blooming behind his eyes as he stared at the message glowing across his phone screen. For several long seconds he simply stood there in the middle of his penthouse, his grip tightening around the device until the metal frame creaked softly beneath his fingers. Eventually the tension bled away with a slow exhale. Anger accomplished very little. Action, on the other hand, accomplished everything. Scrolling through his contacts, he selected a familiar number and lifted the phone to his ear. The call rang only once before an older, practiced voice answered immediately.
"I need a plane ready to take me to Gotham as soon as possible."
"Of course, sir," the man replied without hesitation. "We have one available now if that is your preference. I can contact the pilot immediately."
Nolan gave a small nod despite knowing the gesture would go unseen. "Perfect. Make the call. I'll be there in three hours."
"It will be waiting for you."
The line disconnected.
Nolan lowered the phone slowly before releasing another weary sigh. "Unbelievable…" he muttered to himself. "Just unbelievable."
His fingers danced across the screen as he composed another message, this one addressed to Dre. It was short, concise, and entirely free of emotion. He informed Dre that his return to Star City would be delayed by events in Gotham. Before he came back, he expected Brickwell to have been dealt with and the promised shortlist of managerial candidates waiting on his desk. After reading it over once, Nolan hit send without another thought.
Business finished, he turned his attention toward packing. Clothes disappeared neatly into a leather suitcase, documents into carefully labeled folders, and the antique cane from the underground auction was lifted with surprising care before being nestled inside its velvet-lined case. Nolan paused for only a moment as his fingers brushed the polished wood, allowing himself a faint smile. Whatever secrets the relic held would have to wait. Gotham rarely afforded him the luxury of hobbies.
****
Three hours later the sleek black sedan rolled to a gentle stop beside a private runway. The afternoon sun glinted off the polished fuselage of the waiting jet while ground crews hurried through their final inspections with practiced efficiency. One of the attendants opened the rear passenger door before Nolan had even reached for the handle.
"Safe travels, Mr. Everleigh."
"Thank you."
He stepped onto the tarmac without breaking stride.
Normally, Nolan appreciated the little things. The rhythmic whine of turbine engines. The scent of jet fuel hanging in the warm air. The choreography of baggage handlers and mechanics working around one another without ever colliding. Today, however, his thoughts were elsewhere. Gotham occupied nearly every corner of his mind. Brickwell. Dre. Batman. The expansion into Metropolis. Every unfinished problem demanded attention until the walk from the limousine to the aircraft passed almost unnoticed.
Inside his mind, however, he was anything but alone.
Kieran leaned lazily against an imaginary wall with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking altogether too relaxed for Nolan's liking. "You're overthinking."
"I am planning."
"You've been planning for three hours."
Quentin chuckled. "He's got a point."
Only Vey remained silent. He wasn't listening to the conversation.
He was listening to something else.
Nolan barely registered the smiling flight attendant welcoming him aboard.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Everleigh."
He answered automatically with a polite nod before stepping into the luxurious cabin. A second attendant stood beside the galley arranging a plated meal while another waited farther down the aisle, impeccably dressed in the same uniform. The interior looked exactly as it always did—clean, quiet, expensive.
Yet something felt…Wrong.
Vey moved.
There was no warning,
He simply surged to the surface, and Nolan surrendered the body without resistance. Months ago he might have fought the transition. Now there was only trust. Absolute trust.
The world sharpened.
Every heartbeat inside the cabin became distinct. Every subtle shift of weight, every tiny movement of fabric, every flicker of nervous breathing registered within an instant. The pleasant smile that had rested on Nolan's face vanished as though it had never existed.
His hand drifted naturally toward the untouched meal resting on the side table.
The knife disappeared from the plate.
The nearest attendant noticed the movement a fraction too late. His expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he lunged forward, one hand diving beneath his jacket while the other reached for Vey's arm. Vey intercepted the reaching limb first, twisting violently at the wrist before continuing the motion through the elbow and shoulder. The man's balance collapsed with a cry of pain as his arm folded into an impossible angle.
Before he could recover, the blade flashed once.
A crimson line opened across his throat.
The attendant staggered backward, desperately clutching at the wound as blood poured through his fingers. He never managed another step before collapsing heavily against the aisle.
The second attacker was already moving.
His concealed pistol cleared the holster with impressive speed, but speed alone meant very little against someone who had already begun moving. Vey slipped sideways the instant the barrel aligned with his chest. The gun roared, the round tearing harmlessly through empty air where he had been standing a heartbeat earlier.
Vey closed the remaining distance before the man could fire again.
One hand clamped around the gun wrist.
The other drove upward beneath the elbow.
Bone snapped.
The pistol discharged into the ceiling as the man's fingers involuntarily released their grip. Vey caught the falling weapon before it struck the carpet, smashed the butt across the man's temple, then buried the knife beneath his ribs. The attacker gasped, his strength evaporating almost instantly as Vey eased him silently to the floor.
Only one remained. She stood frozen near the rear of the cabin.
Her pistol hung loosely at her side.
She wasn't aiming anymore.
She was staring.
Vey didn't even acknowledge her.
Instead, he crouched beside the bodies and began searching them with calm efficiency. Spare magazines. Identification. Encrypted communications equipment. A folded photograph. Everything disappeared into his pockets with methodical precision, as though he had all the time in the world.
Behind him…
Silence.
The woman's breathing became shallow.
Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white.
Her lips trembled as tears streamed freely down her face. Her eyes never left Vey's back, yet whatever resolve had carried her onto the aircraft seemed to unravel with every passing second. Terror gave way to panic. Panic became something deeper—something hollow.
She took one hesitant step backward.
Then another.
The pistol slowly rose.
Not toward Vey.
Toward herself.
For the first time since the fight began, Vey turned his head just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye.
Their gazes met.
The woman began shaking uncontrollably.
"No…" she whispered, though whether she spoke to Vey or herself was impossible to tell.
The pistol trembled against her temple.
Her finger tightened.
Bang.
The shot echoed violently through the luxurious cabin before silence reclaimed it.
For several long seconds nothing moved.
Within the quiet of his own mind, Nolan finally found his voice, "…An ambush."
"Yes," Vey answered calmly as he resumed searching the bodies. "A professional one. Today is just full of annoyances."
Quentin's usual amusement had completely disappeared, "They knew exactly where we'd be."
Kieran's expression darkened, "Which means someone leaked our departure. We need a new plane."
Vey reached inside the dead man's jacket one final time and withdrew a compact encrypted transmitter. He studied it briefly before slipping it into his pocket.
Turning his head, Vey's eyes settled on the men rushing into the cabin through the aircraft door. They took one look at the blood-soaked aisle and the three bodies sprawled across the floor before instinct took over. Weapons were drawn, sectors were covered, and radios crackled to life as each man moved with practiced precision. There was no shouting, no panic, only disciplined efficiency. The Underpass had been built to function even when everything went wrong.
"Contain the pilot," Vey ordered calmly. "Nobody leaves this aircraft until we figure out who planned this. Find Gerard. He is the only person I contacted about arranging this flight. I want him found before I return to Gotham."
Several men nodded immediately.
"Of course, sir."
Others were already speaking into radios, dispatching teams throughout the private terminal while additional personnel secured the surrounding runway. Within moments the airport had become a web of quiet activity, every operative understanding their role without needing further instruction.
Another member of the Underpass hurried toward him, slowing only after taking in the carnage scattered throughout the cabin.
"Sir…" he began cautiously. "There's someone outside asking to see you."
For the first time since boarding the aircraft, Vey frowned.
Without saying another word, he reached toward the abandoned meal and picked up a neatly folded linen napkin. As he walked toward the exit he methodically wiped the blood from his cheek and jaw, paying no attention to the crimson stains spreading across the white cloth. Once satisfied, he casually dropped the ruined napkin onto an empty seat.
"Clean this up."
"Yes, sir."
Vey descended the aircraft stairs with measured steps.
Waiting below stood a figure he genuinely had not expected.
Ra's al Ghul.
The Demon's Head rested both hands atop an elegant cane while several members of the League of Shadows stood silently behind him. Every one of them appeared relaxed, yet Vey knew better than to mistake stillness for vulnerability. Men like these could go from statues to executioners in the blink of an eye.
He stopped halfway down the stairs.
"Hello, Ra's."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Were you the one who left me this gift?"
Ra's regarded him carefully. His ancient eyes lingered briefly on the blood still staining Vey's cuffs before returning to his face.
"Why would I do that, Kieran?"
His tone remained calm, almost amused.
"You seem… different than the last time we met."
Vey offered no reaction whatsoever.
He simply stood there, quietly studying Ra's and every individual accompanying him. One guard favored his left leg ever so slightly. Another kept unconsciously checking the rooftops. A third continually watched Vey's hands instead of his eyes. Tiny details. Useful details.
Several long seconds passed before Ra's inclined his head.
"I believe you."
The statement sounded oddly genuine.
"So tell me then. Who sent them? I assume you already know."
Vey continued down the remaining steps until his polished shoes touched the tarmac. Behind him, members of the Underpass continued flowing from the aircraft while others remained inside gathering evidence and disposing of the dead. Neither side obstructed the other. They simply observed.
"I have several theories," Ra's admitted. "Certainty is another matter."
Vey folded his hands behind his back.
"So this is an exchange."
Ra's smiled.
"Everything of value is."
The silence stretched comfortably between them before the older man gestured toward another private jet parked farther down the runway.
"I understand your transportation has become… inconvenient."
His gaze flickered briefly toward the blood visible inside the open aircraft.
"I happen to be returning to Gotham."
The invitation lingered between them for a moment.
"My aircraft has more than enough room."
Vey considered him silently before giving a single nod.
The League aircraft was noticeably different from Nolan's.
Where his own jet favored luxury, polished wood, and expensive furnishings, Ra's preferred simplicity. Dark leather chairs lined the cabin, their craftsmanship obvious despite the absence of unnecessary decoration. Everything possessed a purpose. Nothing appeared chosen merely for appearance.
It suited its owner.
Vey settled into the seat opposite Ra's while two trusted members of the Underpass occupied places several rows behind him. Members of the League of Shadows remained equally quiet farther back in the cabin. Both organizations watched one another with professional curiosity rather than open hostility.
For the first several minutes, only the steady hum of the engines filled the silence.
Vey finally broke it.
"You didn't come to the airport simply to offer me transportation."
"No."
"What do you want?"
Ra's looked through the cabin window for several thoughtful moments before answering.
"Your hotels they interest me, my people speak highly of them. The more you open the more interesting they become."
Vey understood immediately, "You want a stake in the continental."