The restaurant was quiet except for the sound of quiet chatter servers shifting to and from customers.
Soft piano music drifted through the air while waiters in immaculate uniforms moved between tables with practiced silence. Sunlight poured through the tall windows overlooking downtown Gotham, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished silverware.
At a corner table sat Mr. Kane
The former colonel looked completely at ease in the refined setting. His posture was straight, shoulders squared out of long habit. A tailored dark suit replaced the military uniform he had worn for most of his life, but the command presence remained.
Across from him sat Councilman Robert Hensley, a man who looked both honored and slightly nervous to be sharing the table.
Hensley cut into his steak before speaking.
"The redevelopment proposal for the East End is stuck again," the councilman admitted. "The zoning board says the infrastructure costs are too high."
Kane dabbed his mouth with a napkin, calm and unhurried.
"The East End has been neglected for decades," he said evenly. "Infrastructure investment is exactly what it needs."
"That's what I told them," Hensley replied quickly. "But they're worried about the budget."
Kane leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Then perhaps the proposal is being framed incorrectly."
Hensley looked up.
"How so?"
"If the district were reclassified as a security revitalization zone," Kane continued smoothly, "the project could receive federal infrastructure grants."
The councilman blinked.
"That would move approval out of the zoning committee."
"And into the public safety committee," Kane said.
Hensley's eyes lit up.
"Which I sit on."
Kane allowed himself a faint smile.
"Exactly."
The councilman laughed under his breath.
"Well… that certainly simplifies things."
Kane lifted his glass.
"Gotham only improves when capable people are willing to act."
Hensley raised his own glass quickly.
"To progress."
Kane returned the gesture politely.
But behind the calm expression, his mind was already three moves ahead.
The waiter had just begun clearing the plates when Kane noticed them.
Two men entered through the front doors.
Most people in the restaurant barely looked up. Expensive places like this saw a constant flow of wealthy patrons, executives, and politicians.
But Kane noticed immediately.
The eyes.
Hard. Searching.
And the way they walked.
Not relaxed. Not curious.
Purposeful.
Military.
Kane's instincts—honed through decades of command and war—fired before conscious thought caught up.
His chair slammed backward as he dove sideways.
At the same time his hand grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, the heavy wood crashing down between him and the entrance.
The first gunshots erupted a split second later.
CRACK—CRACK—CRACK.
The quiet restaurant shattered into chaos.
Glass exploded.
Silverware clattered across marble floors.
The pianist stopped mid-note as the instrument lid slammed shut from the shock of bullets tearing through the room.
Councilman Hensley screamed and collapsed behind the overturned table beside Kane.
More attackers poured in through the front.
And then—
The kitchen doors burst open.
Three more men stepped through, weapons already raised.
They moved with professional precision, spreading out, angles covered, advancing through the dining area like they had rehearsed it.
But the gunmen weren't the only professionals in the room.
Several diners who had been quietly eating moments earlier suddenly moved.
A man near the bar shoved his chair back and drew a pistol from under his jacket.
Another overturned a table and pulled a compact rifle from a carry case.
Two more near the window stood in one smooth motion, weapons already in their hands.
Gunfire erupted from both sides.
The supposed "guests" began firing back immediately.
Muzzle flashes lit the restaurant like camera flashes.
One of the attackers dropped instantly, spinning to the floor.
Another dove behind a pillar.
Kane remained crouched behind the flipped table, already assessing the situation.
Before he could even give an order, several of his men rushed forward.
"Protect the Colonel!"
Four bodyguards closed ranks around him, forming a defensive wall while returning fire toward the entrance.
Bullets slammed into the overturned table, splintering wood inches from Kane's head.
One of the guards leaned down toward him.
"Sir, we need to move!"
Kane's eyes remained calm, calculating.
This wasn't a random hit.
Too coordinated.
Front entrance.
Kitchen breach.
Inside support.
Someone had known exactly where he would be.
And planned accordingly.
Kane grabbed the guard's arm.
"Back exit," he said calmly over the gunfire.
"Now."
Then he glanced toward the attackers advancing through the smoke and shattered glass.
His expression hardened.
Someone in Gotham had just made a very serious mistake.
The hallway behind the kitchen was chaos.
Staff screamed and scattered as Kane and his security team pushed through the back exit.
"Move!" one of the guards barked.
The rear service door burst open and the group spilled into the alley behind the restaurant.
Cold Gotham air rushed in.
Two black SUVs were already waiting with engines running.
"Colonel, this way!" a guard shouted, pulling open the rear door of the second vehicle.
Kane moved quickly despite the gunfire still echoing faintly inside the building.
Then—
CRACK.
Kane jerked.
A sharp burning pain tore through his leg.
"He's hit!" someone shouted.
One of the guards grabbed Kane under the arm, half lifting him as they rushed the last few steps to the vehicle.
"It's nothing," Kane growled through clenched teeth.
Blood was already soaking through the leg of his trousers, but the wound hadn't dropped him. Just a clip—painful, but not disabling.
They shoved him into the back seat.
Two guards piled in beside him while another slammed the door shut.
"Go!" one of them shouted to the driver.
The SUV roared to life.
Behind them, two more members of Kane's security team sprinted toward the vehicle they had originally arrived in.
"Take the first car!" someone shouted.
One of the guards yanked open the driver's side door and began climbing inside.
The explosion hit a fraction of a second later.
BOOM.
The entire alley lit up in a violent flash of orange fire.
The sedan lifted off the ground as the blast tore through it, the shockwave slamming into the surrounding brick walls.
Windows shattered.
Flaming debris scattered across the pavement.
The guard who had been reaching for the door was thrown backward by the blast, crashing into a dumpster.
Inside the departing SUV, everyone instinctively ducked.
The driver didn't slow.
In the rear seat, Kane looked back through the rear window as the burning wreckage shrank behind them.
A bomb.
Placed in the vehicle they arrived in.
Which meant whoever orchestrated the attack hadn't just planned an ambush.
They had planned the escape too.
Kane leaned back against the seat, breathing steadily despite the pain in his leg.
One of the guards was already pressing a cloth against the wound.
"Sir, we need to get you to a hospital."
Kane shook his head immediately.
"No hospitals."
Too public.
Too many questions.
Too many eyes.
His gaze hardened as he watched the burning alley disappear into the distance.
***
The hospital room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of machines.
Soft beeping filled the air, marking the slow, stubborn persistence of life.
Maria Powers sat beside the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
In the bed lay her husband, unmoving beneath the pale hospital sheets. Tubes and monitors surrounded him, the sterile smell of antiseptic lingering in the room.
Maria reached out gently and brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead.
"You're causing quite the fuss, you know," she said softly, her voice calm and composed.
Her fingers rested lightly on his hand.
"The doctors say it's likely you'll wake up soon."
She paused for a moment, studying his still face.
"Hopefully they aren't building up my hope."
The words were spoken quietly, though her tone held no real fragility—only patience.
Her phone began to ring.
Maria glanced down at the screen before answering.
"Yes?"
A man's voice spoke from the other end.
"He made it out," the voice said. "But he took a hit."
Maria nodded slowly as if the man on the line could see her.
"As expected," she replied calmly.
There was a brief pause before she asked the question that truly mattered.
"Nothing to be traced back, yes?"
"Yes ma'am," the man answered quickly. "I made sure of it."
"Good work, Charles."
She ended the call without another word.
For a moment the room was quiet again.
Maria placed the phone down on the bedside table and looked back at her husband.
A small smile formed on her lips.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Simply satisfied.
Her fingers once again rested lightly on his hand as she gazed down at him.
"The next meeting," she murmured softly.
Her smile widened just a fraction.
"Will certainly be interesting."