The city didn't notice when Shark moved.
That was the point.
No sirens.
No violence.
No noise loud enough to be remembered.
Just adjustments.
He sat in the back of a parked car, phone resting heavy in his hand, eyes on the street like it owed him answers. Men came and went, messages delivered in low voices, instructions passed without repetition.
"Tighten routes," Shark said. "Change the handoffs. No freelancers."
A nod.
"Anyone asking questions that don't belong to them?" he continued. "Log it. Don't answer."
Another nod.
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't threaten. Shark never did when things mattered.
This wasn't retaliation.
This was containment.
By midnight, the ripple had spread.
Drivers took longer routes.
Suppliers went quiet.
Informants suddenly forgot names.
On the surface, nothing changed.
Underneath, the city closed ranks.
Shark exhaled slowly and made one last call.
"Keep ValeTech clean," he said. "No names. No stories. No overlap."
A pause.
"They already stopped," the voice replied.
"Good," Shark said. "Make sure they stay stopped."
He ended the call and leaned back.
Boundaries weren't fences.
They were absences places you stopped reaching because your hand came back empty too many times.
Across the city, in glass towers and quiet offices, systems stalled in ways no one could explain. Requests didn't fail. They just… didn't return.
People adjusted without realizing why.
Nyra felt it later that night.
Not as fear. Not as relief.
As space.
She stood on her rooftop, smoke curling upward, city breathing around her. Her phone stayed silent. No unknown numbers. No tension humming beneath her skin.
Shark had drawn a line.
She knew better than to thank him for it.
This kind of protection wasn't a gift.
It was a promise.
And promises like that always came with a cost just not today.
Nyra flicked the cigarette away and watched the ember die.
Somewhere, someone had learned something without ever being told.
And that was how Shark preferred it.