The celebration continued several floors below them.
Music drifted upward through the open balcony doors, softened by distance until it became little more than pleasant background noise. Every now and then laughter floated into the cool night air before disappearing into the city skyline. From their vantage point, the lights of Star City stretched endlessly toward the horizon, vibrant enough to rival the stars hidden overhead.
Neither man paid the view much attention.
Kieran leaned comfortably against the balcony railing, a cigarette resting loosely between his fingers while Dre stood nearby with a thick cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth. For several minutes neither of them spoke, each simply enjoying the rare moment of quiet after weeks of relentless work. Smoke curled lazily into the night, carried away by the breeze before either man could watch it disappear.
Eventually Kieran broke the silence.
"So," he asked, taking another slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling toward the city, "how did it go?"
Dre rolled the cigar between his fingers before answering. "Well enough, boss. We managed to bring in most of the infrastructure we needed. Equipment's already being distributed, safe houses are stocked, and most of the crews made it back without much trouble."
Kieran nodded slowly, saying nothing for several seconds as he considered the report.
"That's good."
"It could've been a whole lot better."
"It usually can."
Dre gave a tired chuckle before taking another puff from his cigar. "Guess that's true."
Kieran rested both forearms on the railing, his eyes drifting over the glittering city below. "At least something went according to plan tonight."
There was no bitterness in his voice.
Only acceptance.
The grand opening had been everything he hoped for. The operation in Gotham…
Not so much.
"We might need you back in Gotham sooner than we expected."
Dre's expression tightened immediately.
"That bad?"
Kieran gave a small shrug, though the movement carried more weight than it normally would have.
"About as bad as you could imagine."
He looked over at Dre, studying the older man's face for a moment before a faint smile returned.
"Care to sit in on the debriefing?"
Dre didn't hesitate.
"I'd like that."
"Good."
Kieran crushed the cigarette into the ashtray beside the balcony door before pushing himself upright. "Come on then."
The two men stepped back inside.
The difference between the balcony and the suite was immediate. The cool evening breeze disappeared, replaced by warm lighting and polished hardwood floors. Music from downstairs became muffled once the balcony door slid shut, leaving only the quiet hum of the hotel's ventilation system.
As Kieran crossed the room, his posture subtly changed.
The relaxed businessman faded.
Quentin took his place.
Without a word, he wandered toward the small conference table positioned near the windows. A wooden cigar box already sat waiting there. He flipped it open, selecting one with practiced familiarity before expertly clipping the end and lighting it with a silver lighter. Thick smoke drifted upward as he settled into one of the chairs.
Dre took the seat beside him.
Quentin opened the laptop resting on the table, typed in a series of passwords, and waited.
Only a few seconds passed before Marcy's face appeared on the screen.
She looked exhausted.
The bags beneath her eyes were darker than Quentin remembered, her usually immaculate hair tied back in a hastily assembled ponytail while several folders lay scattered across the desk behind her. Even through the screen he could hear voices in the background, operators still moving through the command center despite the late hour.
She managed a weary smile.
"How was the grand opening, boss?"
Quentin returned a faint smirk around the cigar resting between his teeth.
"A success."
His smile faded almost immediately.
"But I don't particularly care about that right now."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Tell me what happened."
Marcy nodded once, all traces of pleasantries disappearing with it.
"They were waiting for us."
Quentin wasn't surprised.
"I figured."
"The moment Batman boarded that plane, Young Justice quietly replaced him. They let us begin the operation before moving all at once. Every major shipment we planned to move tonight was intercepted almost simultaneously. It was coordinated, deliberate, and frankly… impressive."
She reached for a folder, flipping through several pages before continuing.
"We lost six of the major convoys outright. Three warehouse transfers had to be abandoned entirely, and two of the larger dock exchanges never reached their destinations."
Dre winced.
"That much?"
Marcy nodded.
"Unfortunately."
She didn't linger on the losses, however.
"But that's only part of the picture."
Quentin remained silent, allowing her to continue.
"The contingency routes worked."
She tapped another document.
"The moment we realized they weren't reacting but anticipating, we pulled every remaining convoy off their scheduled paths. Secondary routes became tertiary routes. Dead drops became mobile exchanges. Warehouses that were supposed to receive shipments redirected them elsewhere before Young Justice could arrive."
A hint of satisfaction crept into her voice.
"They prepared for the operation we planned."
She allowed herself the smallest smile.
"They weren't prepared for the one we improvised."
Quentin leaned back slightly, smoke escaping slowly from between his lips.
"And the final tally?"
Marcy consulted another page.
"We lost most of the big shipments."
She didn't bother softening the truth.
"They hurt us there."
Her finger slid farther down the report.
"But they didn't cripple us." She looked back into the camera.
"The overwhelming majority of our smaller movements were completed successfully. Equipment reached nearly every safe house we intended. Most of the infrastructure made it into place. Personnel transfers finished with minimal disruption, and almost every cache scheduled for tonight was successfully stocked."
She closed the folder.
"Overall…" A tired smile crossed her face, "We lost a battle."
Her eyes met Quentin's through the screen.
"But we won enough of the night that we're still weeks—if not months—ahead of where we would've been otherwise."
Silence settled over the room for several moments.
Finally, Quentin smiled.
Not because they had escaped unscathed.
But because they had survived contact with Batman's contingency without him present, "Good."
***
A week had passed since the grand opening.
For Nolan, it may as well have been a year.
The Continental had exploded in popularity almost overnight. Every morning began with a stack of reports waiting outside his office, and every evening ended with another list somehow even longer than the last. Reservations poured in faster than cancellations ever could, conference halls were booked months in advance, restaurants were operating at capacity, and luxury suites had become some of the most sought-after accommodations in Star City.
Even the private floors had become busier than expected.
That pleased Nolan more than he cared to admit.
The more legitimate business they conducted, the easier it became to hide everything else.
He sat behind the polished oak desk in his office overlooking the city, one hand resting against the receiver of his office phone while the other absentmindedly sorted through paperwork. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, construction crews were still putting the finishing touches on landscaping and decorative fountains, though guests would never know the hotel had only recently opened.
"Yes," Nolan said warmly, leaning back into his chair. "Metropolis is the plan. My schedule is… less than forgiving at the moment, but I believe I can spare a few days."
The man on the other end laughed enthusiastically.
"Wonderful! I'd love to show you some of our properties while you're there. You made quite the impression at your opening, Mr. Everleigh."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"No, really. Half the investors I spoke with couldn't stop talking about your hotel."
"Well, I'll have to make sure they aren't disappointed if I visit."
More laughter echoed through the receiver before the conversation drifted toward business opportunities, mutual acquaintances, and the rapidly growing luxury hotel market. The owner possessed several successful hotels throughout Metropolis and had attended the Star City opening personally, making a point of introducing himself before the evening had ended.
It was interesting.
Kieran believed the man wanted to sell.
Nolan wasn't so sure.
There had been no desperation in his voice. No subtle probing for purchase offers or hidden attempts to gauge market value. If anything, the conversation felt… genuine. Like an established businessman recognizing another who had risen unusually quickly and deciding that friendship might prove more valuable than competition.
Networking.
Life was…Odd.
Eventually the call came to a pleasant conclusion, promises exchanged to meet in Metropolis the following week before Nolan gently returned the receiver to its cradle.
A smile spread across his face.
Things were moving.
Dre had done exceptional work laying the groundwork throughout Star City. It wasn't Gotham—not even close—but foundations had been established. Safe houses were operating, recruitment continued steadily, and the communities closest to the Continental had begun warming to the organization. Progress was slower than Nolan preferred, yet progress nonetheless.
Next week…Metropolis.
His smile slowly faded.
The timing couldn't have been worse.
Dre was still needed here. Star City's operation wasn't mature enough to leave unattended, especially with Green Arrow inevitably taking a greater interest in the Continental. Yet Gotham needed experienced leadership as well. Batman's increased aggression following the failed shipment operation had forced Marcy, Terrell, and Naima to work almost constantly simply to maintain momentum.
And then…There was Metropolis.
If Nolan wanted the expansion to succeed, someone reliable would eventually need to remain there as well.
His fingers began tapping softly against the polished surface of the desk.
Three cities.
One organization.
Too few trusted people.
Stretching too quickly had always been the greatest danger. Success encouraged ambition, ambition demanded expansion, and expansion inevitably strained even the strongest foundations. Nolan had known this from the beginning, yet knowing something and experiencing it firsthand were entirely different matters.
He sighed, "I need more captains."
Leaders.
People capable of building entire branches without needing him to oversee every decision personally.
His fingers stopped tapping, "I'll call a meeting."
It was time his senior staff started thinking beyond Gotham.
****
Outside of the continental, another man was moving just as quickly.
Green Arrow vaulted over the edge of a rooftop without hesitation, his cape snapping violently behind him as gravity seized hold. Before he had fallen more than a few feet, an arrow was already nocked.
Thunk.
The line buried itself into the side of a neighboring building. Oliver released the shaft a heartbeat later, allowing the tension to sling him through the open air. His boots struck concrete with practiced precision before he pushed off again, never breaking stride.
Ahead of him, Constantine Drakon ran.
The assassin moved with frightening efficiency. There was no wasted motion, no unnecessary flourish. Every jump, every turn, every landing served only one purpose.
Escape.
Drakon cleared a ventilation unit before diving over the far edge of the building. Green Arrow followed immediately, planting a boot on the ledge before launching himself after him.
The drop was nearly four stories.
Drakon caught a fire escape halfway down, using the railing to redirect his momentum before dropping the remaining distance into a narrow alley. His boots barely touched the pavement before he was sprinting again.
Oliver landed moments later.
Already behind.
Already gaining.
The alley spilled onto a crowded avenue where afternoon traffic crawled between intersections. Horns blared as pedestrians hurried across crosswalks, completely unaware of the chase erupting beside them.
Drakon never slowed.
A delivery truck rolled directly into his path.
He planted one foot against the front bumper, another onto the hood, and vaulted cleanly over the roof of the vehicle before disappearing between two moving cars.
Green Arrow followed.
His boots struck the truck just as it lurched to a stop. He used the height to launch himself over the surrounding traffic, twisting in midair before landing in a controlled roll on the opposite side.
The distance between them continued shrinking.
Drakon glanced back only once.
He suddenly veered left into a bustling marketplace.
Wooden stalls exploded apart as he shoved them into the path behind him. Fruit scattered across the pavement while overturned carts rolled wildly into startled shoppers. A rack of clothing collapsed directly across the narrow walkway.
Oliver never hesitated.
He vaulted the first obstacle, ducked beneath the second, and planted a hand atop the fallen rack before swinging over it in one fluid motion. His breathing remained steady despite the relentless pace.
Another alley.
Another turn.
The city blurred around them.
Drakon bounded up the side of a brick wall, using exposed piping to climb onto a second-story balcony before leaping onto another rooftop.
Oliver fired another grappling arrow.
The cable snapped tight, pulling him upward with explosive force. He released at the apex of the swing, landing only seconds behind the assassin before immediately continuing the pursuit.
Both men raced across the skyline.
Concrete rooftops became steel catwalks.
Steel became brick.
Brick became glass.
Neither slowed.
Finally, Drakon descended from the rooftops altogether, sliding down the side of a maintenance ladder before disappearing into street level once more.
Oliver landed close behind.
For the first time since the chase began, the assassin seemed to have a destination.
He crossed the street without breaking pace.
Passed beneath an elegant stone archway.
Then slipped effortlessly through an unassuming side entrance just as a uniformed employee opened the door from within.
The door closed behind him.
Oliver slowed for only a fraction of a second.
His eyes lifted toward the building towering above him.
Polished stone.
Towering glass.
Golden lettering stretched proudly across the entrance.
THE CONTINENTAL