The meeting room was already thick with murmurs when the doors swung open. Quentin strode in, his sharp suit immaculate but his face storm-dark. There were no greetings, no handshakes just his voice, cutting through the air like glass.

"Let's get to the brass tax here. Penguin just killed some of our people. They weren't even doing anything just sitting in their spot. Yes, they were gathering information, but everyone has people gathering information."

Around the long table, lieutenants shifted in their seats. Dre, Neima, the other district bosses each one looking for a safe place to put their eyes.

Someone muttered from the far end, "Great… another war."

Quentin's head snapped toward the voice, his stare like a knife.

"And whose fault is that? You? All of you? I told you to scoop up Black Mask's territory not Penguin's."

He stopped abruptly, his shoulders loosening slightly and then, seamlessly, Nolan was there. The shift was almost imperceptible, but the tone was different, smoother, more subdued, "Sorry. I know this is tense. But we need to focus. We cannot afford a full-blown war over something this stupid. Penguin is… a petty man. He can't handle anything outside his control."

From the side, Dre muttered, "Why don't we just kill him?"

Nolan shook his head slowly. "Even if we do, it changes nothing. Someone else takes his place, and they'll want to prove they're not weak. That means more blood. And we can't exactly wipe out everyone."

He leaned back, eyes closing for a brief moment, fingers drumming the table.

"I'll deal with this. Pass it down—we're shoring up defenses. No one approaches Penguin's territory for now. If they push into ours, kill on sight. And keep your eyes open for the Bat… and his little gang that's been popping up lately."

He stood, scanning the table.

"How are we with Croc, Dre?"

Dre shrugged slightly. "I think he's receptive. Maybe if you head down there yourself, he'll talk. No problems in the sewers so far."

Nolan nodded. "Alright. I'll carve out the time." He let out a long breath. "Everyone—be safe. Keep everyone else safe. We don't want another gang war. I'll figure something out."

He left without another word, the heavy meeting room air following him up to the penthouse.

His desk waited, neat except for one thing: the envelope. He'd noticed it the second he walked in, but now, alone, he picked it up.

A formal invitation. Thick cardstock. Expensive lettering.

He sighed, shaking his head with a bitter smile, "Why," he asked the empty room, "would anyone invite Kieran Everleigh to a gala?" He set the envelope down, voice dropping to a mutter. "They should know by now… everyone in the right circles knows I'm nothing but a criminal."

***

The soft whir of the soldering tool filled the penthouse suite, its faint smell of heated metal curling into the air. Nolan sat hunched over the wide desk, a pair of precision screwdrivers lying to his right, wires snaking like veins across the surface. The city's glow bled in through the tall windows behind him, casting shifting reflections in the polished tabletop.

In his field of vision clear as day, though invisible to anyone else—Kieran lounged in one of the leather chairs, legs crossed and an amused smile playing at his lips. Quentin stood off to the side, arms folded, watching Nolan work with the sharp, assessing look of someone already calculating five moves ahead. Vae leaned against the edge of the desk, his posture loose but his eyes cold, as if the whole world was just another opponent to dismantle.

Kieran was the first to break the silence. "So," he said lightly, "what's the plan for the Penguin situation?"

The soldering tool hissed against a contact point. Nolan didn't look up. "I've got something brewing in my mind," he murmured. "Which you three should already know. Last thing we need is another war." He adjusted a wire, the tip of his tongue pressing against his teeth in focus. "But…" A sigh slid out of him. "We can't look weak, either. We have to respond to his attack in a way that makes it clear we're not a target—without inviting an all-out bloodbath."

Quentin stepped forward a pace. "So what's that look like? Quiet hit back? Public gesture?" His eyes narrowed. "And… what about Croc? We meeting him?"

A dry laugh bubbled up from Nolan's throat as he set down the soldering iron. "No," he said with mock horror. "It'll be Vae meeting him. I don't know if I'm ready to stand in front of a… human, alligator, crocodile… whatever he is. Hybrid thing."

Vae's mouth curved into a smirk. "I can do that. Easily."

"Of course you can," Nolan muttered, reaching for another tool and nudging a tangle of wires aside with the back of his hand. The click of metal parts echoed in the quiet.

A moment passed, filled only by the faint hum of the city and the occasional hiss of molten solder. Then Nolan's fingers stilled. He let out a sharp "tch," setting down the screwdriver. Straightening from his chair, he flexed his stiff shoulders.

"Alright," he said, glancing between the three of them. "Let's just end it there for now. I've got enough rattling around in my head without adding Croc's smile to it."

He stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. Crossing to the wardrobe, he pulled out a sharp black suit and laid it across the stand, checking the line of the jacket and the sheen of the tie—ready for tomorrow's gala. From there, he moved to the liquor cart, uncorked a bottle, and poured himself a drink.

Glass in hand, he picked up his phone, tapped a number, and set it on speaker before walking to the balcony. Cool night air swept through his hair as he leaned on the railing, the city glittering below. The line rang twice, then three times. Nolan was about to hang up when a deep voice came through.

"…Hello?"

Nolan's lips twitched. "Hello, Floyd."

There was a pause on the other end. "Deadshot," Nolan added, "I've been thinking. I want new business coming through this hotel. You know our services. What's it going to take for you to spread the word to some of your… associates?"

"I don't have any associates," Floyd said flatly.

A quiet laugh slipped from Nolan. "I know for a fact you know people in your business. They don't have to be the best of the best but surely you know some people with decent skill who take jobs in Gotham. People you can tell about my hotel. My business."

There was silence for a few beats. Then Floyd's voice again, thoughtful now. "I'll get back to you. If I do this, I'll want something in return."

"See what you can do," Nolan replied. "And I'll see what I can do. Call me back when you've got a definite answer and your price."

"Fine."

The line went dead.

Nolan took a long drink, savoring the burn, then set the empty glass down on the table beside him. He stepped back inside, the warm lamplight replacing the city's glow.

***

A/N: okay, ik I promised action and we haven't really seen any yet. There will be I promise!! Couple of questions:

1. Do the court of owls really concern themselves with gang level stuff? I've seen people mentioning the court being added but I'm pretty sure they don't care about Nolan level stuff

2. The light. I want to do more with them but, who would they even send to perform a get back on Nolan for his previous actions. I've been trying to do research but keep finding conflicting stuff. Thus I come to you all for these questions. Does bane work for them?

Sorry for my ingnorece.