The biting New York wind cut through the crowded streets as the stealth trio moved out.

"Hey, Uncle James," Hope muttered, pulling his jacket tighter. "Where exactly are we going for this spying run?"

"The Hyatt Grand Central New York," James replied, checking his wrist console. "My tracking drones picked up localized syndicate signatures inside the building."

Hope frowned. "If the drones already found them, why do we even need to go spy in person? Drones do a perfectly good job on their own."

James stopped, looking down at the kid with a stern, veteran gaze. "Listen to me. If you want to survive out here, you can use devices to help you, but you

never

depend on them blindly. Technology can be jammed. A real soldier relies on their own eyes and ears."

"Alright, alright, got it," Hope muttered, smirking.

They navigated the subway network and arrived outside the luxury hotel, its towering glass facade glowing under the city lights. Slipping past the front entrance, they stepped into the main lobby.

Hope scanned the crowded, upscale environment. "So, where are the targets?"

"According to my intel, they're located in the hotel's main lounge bar," James whispered, scanning the room.

"Awesome! Let’s head into the bar right now," Hope said, walking forward. "Our time is important, we need to move fast."

James grabbed Hope by the collar, pulling him back. "Hey, my 200-IQ genius... do you have any common sense at all?"

Hope blinked, caught off guard. "What? Why are you getting angry?"

"Because you are twelve years old!" James snapped quietly. "You are completely underage. You aren’t allowed inside a high-end bar, kid. You'd blow our cover before we even cross the velvet rope."

Hope groaned, crossing his arms. "Aditya sir said we were here to fight. What are we supposed to do now?"

"For now, you stay put right here in the lobby lounge," James ordered, pulling a compact receiver from his trench coat and handing it to Hope. "Take this device. Watch the indicator. When the red light glows, that’s my signal to you that it's time to move."

"Understood," Hope sighed, taking the device. "Just take care out there."

"Don't worry about me," James muttered, adjusting his collar. "I've tracked this specific target before. He usually drinks heavily in the mornings, but tonight he’s breaking his routine."

Leaving Hope in the lobby, James and Perry slipped into the dimly lit, sophisticated bar. James selected a table in the middle section—a perfect tactical vantage point where they could observe the entire room without drawing attention to themselves.

Perry leaned in closely, her sharp eyes locking onto a VIP table across the room. "There he is. That's Mike."

But as James looked closer, his blood ran cold. Sitting right next to Mike was a man wearing a high-end tailored suit, radiating a massive, suffocating pressure.

Marco...

James thought, his jaw tightening.

What the hell is he doing here?

Marco was an absolute monster—an

A-tier vanguard

and a close personal ally of Dustin.

"This is bad," James whispered to Perry, his heart hammering. "We are absolutely not capable of fighting both Mike and an A-tier like Marco at the same time if things go south."

Suddenly, James's tactical mind sparked. An idea formed.

"Perry, stay here," James murmured. He ordered an expensive bottle of wine, pouring himself a single glass. He took a slow sip, letting the alcohol slightly cloud his scent to play the part of a clumsy drunk.

Standing up with the wine glass in hand, James stumbled slightly, deliberately knocking over a metal tissue paper stand on a nearby service table. The stand clattered loudly to the floor. Acting flustered, James dropped to his knees under the adjacent table to retrieve it, completely out of sight. While hidden underneath, he quickly splashed a heavy dose of the wine onto his own shirt and sleeves.

He stood back up, acting completely agitated and drunk. "What the hell? Look at this mess!"

Muttering loudly about needing the washroom, James began stumbling down the narrow aisle. The path to the restrooms led directly past Mike and Marco’s VIP table.

As James neared their table, he deliberately caught his foot on the edge of the heavy mahogany table leg. His body lurched forward. With perfect, practiced precision, James collided directly into one of Marco’s elite personal bodyguards, spilling the remaining red wine straight onto the guard’s tactical suit.

"Hey! Watch it!" the guard snarled, his hand instantly flashing down toward the concealed firearm beneath his jacket.

Before the guard could draw, Marco raised a single, commanding finger, his voice cold. "Stand down. Not in this place."

The guard instantly froze, obeying the command, though his eyes burned with rage.

James raised his hands, swaying slightly as he leaned against the table for support, looking completely apologetic. "I am so, so sorry, officer... completely my fault. Just a clumsy mistake." He patted the guard's shoulder aggressively as if trying to wipe off the stain, before turning and stumbling quickly into the restroom corridor.

Safely inside the secluded, empty bathroom stalls, James pulled out a pair of wireless earpieces, a sharp smirk replacing his drunk expression.

The entire sequence had been a flawless setup. First, he drank the wine so the guards would smell the alcohol and assume he was completely intoxicated and out of control. Second, dropping the tissue stand gave him the excuse to get covered in wine. Finally, the "accidental" collision allowed him to physically touch the guard—giving him the split-second window needed to plant a microscopic, high-frequency recording mic directly onto the guard’s lapel.

James popped the earbud into his ear. Static hissed for a second, and then the crystal-clear audio of the VIP table filled his headset.

"...Why did you invite me here, Mike?"

Marco’s voice echoed through the feed, cold and impatient.

"You never call me out to the city without a specific reason."

"Ah, my intelligent friend, you know me too well,"

Mike laughed darkly over the clinking of glasses.

"To be honest, I'm completely sick and tired of running that laboratory project. I prefer active kidnappings. Managing all those test kids is becoming an absolute bore. So, I have a proposition for you."

Marco paused.

"Go on."

"If you don't mind backing me up, I want you to convince the S-tier leaders and the lower-tier factions to vote for me as the supreme Captain of the Northern New York territory. None of the others have the vision I do. Sure, it was my fault that those two experimental kids managed to pass the protocol and escape into the system... but let's be honest, even a God-tier leader couldn't handle two anomalies at once, right?"

"And what exactly is my profit if I advise the Boss and the S-tier council to grant you this captaincy?"

Marco asked smoothly.

"My best friend, if you pull this off, I will give you a straight forty percent cut of all my revenue,"

Mike hissed greedily.

"Plus, I'll hand over full operational control of our entire high-density drug distribution business in the city."

There was a long silence on the feed before Marco finally spoke.

"That is a highly acceptable offer. I will look into it. What's the plan for tonight?"

Mike chuckled, his glass clinking against Marco's.

"Tonight, we party. We head up to the private suites. I have a specialized batch of custom synthetic drugs waiting for you upstairs..."

Inside the bathroom stall, James's eyes narrowed into slits as the audio continued to record. They had just stumbled onto a massive political play inside the NVA syndicate.