It didn't feel like a normal night anymore.
Not even by Leon's rapidly degrading standards.
The lights below the rooftop kept flashing—blue, red, white. But there were no sirens. No wailing. Just steady, surgical movement. Black cars opened with precision. Men in tailored vests stepped out, synchronized like a military drill. Not loud. Not rushing. Calm.
That was what made it terrifying.
Leon stood behind the lip of the rooftop wall, peering down, his breath fogging slightly in the damp air.
At the center of the formation stood the woman.
She wore a long white coat with brass trim. No armor. No visible weapons. Just gloves—pure white—and a high collar that framed her face like a blade. Her hair was tied in a tight bun, not a strand out of place.
She moved like gravity bent around her.
And when she turned her head and looked directly up, Leon flinched.
She couldn't see him. She shouldn't have seen him.
But it felt like she did.
Behind him, Sayaka stepped closer. "She's early."
Elira's arms were folded. "I heard whispers. I didn't believe them."
Mira's face was blank, but her voice was colder than he'd ever heard. "Aurelia Vire."
Leon turned. "That's a real name?"
"She used to work with diplomats," Mira said. "Then she started recruiting from private contractors. Ex-security. Corporate blacklists. Men who disappeared from maps."
"She's not underground," Elira added. "She's above ground. Invisible because she wears legitimacy like armor."
Sayaka leaned on the ledge beside Leon, her voice calm but firm. "Her faction doesn't sell drugs. Or weapons. They sell control."
Leon blinked. "That doesn't even mean anything."
"It means they don't want money," Elira said. "They want rules."
"And they don't like uncertainty," Mira added. "Which makes you a problem."
"Me? I haven't even filed taxes this year."
"You're not predictable," Sayaka said. "No history. No base. No trail."
Elira's gaze sharpened. "And somehow, you've walked untouched across three territories, ended a supply ring, collapsed a smuggling front, and turned three power brokers into your unofficial bodyguards."
Leon's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"Look," he said finally, "I've been saying this for weeks. I'm not trying to be anyone. I'm not doing anything."
"That's the problem," Mira said softly. "They can't control what they can't define."
Down below, Aurelia raised one hand.
Every man behind her moved. Efficient. Silent.
One of them opened a briefcase. Inside was a stack of documents, bound in steel rings.
Leon squinted. "Is that a… contract?"
Sayaka nodded. "She'll offer you one meeting."
"Why?"
"To classify you."
Leon backed away from the ledge. "No. No, I'm not doing that. I don't even know what I'd say."
"She'll say all the right things," Elira warned. "She'll make it sound like protection. Like order. She'll offer you peace."
"I want peace!"
Sayaka shook her head. "Not the kind she gives. Her peace comes with a box. And once you're in it, you don't get to move anymore."
Leon looked at them all. "So what do I do? Hide? Run?"
"You go down," Mira said.
He turned, startled. "What?"
"You go down. Alone. She expects you to have handlers. Allies. A team."
"Which I do."
"No," she said. "Not tonight. Tonight, you walk out like you're above her. You make her think she's late to your table."
Leon let out a strangled laugh. "I don't even have a table."
Elira stepped forward. "You're not a leader because you planned to be, Leon. You're a leader because everyone else believes you are."
"And that's not insane to you?"
"It's reality," Sayaka said. "You either wear the crown or get crushed by it."
Leon swallowed. His mouth was dry.
He turned back toward the elevator door. It stood open now. Waiting.
"Why me?" he asked quietly.
No one answered.
Not because they didn't know.
Because there was no answer he'd accept yet.
The ride down was slow.
Or maybe time just bent weird when you were about to walk into a negotiation with someone who may or may not have a private army.
Leon's shoes squeaked a little. He hadn't changed. Hoodie, dark jeans, hair a little messy from the wind. He looked like a student who had wandered into the wrong building.
And that was the point.
He stepped out into the plaza.
The moment his foot hit the concrete, twenty heads turned.
They didn't move. Didn't reach. Just watched.
Aurelia stood in the center. Calm. Perfect.
"Leon Vale," she said. Her voice was… wrong. Beautiful, but cold. Like glass singing.
"I hear you've disrupted some delicate balances."
He didn't speak.
She tilted her head.
"You've built quite a legend. Moved pieces without ever showing your hand."
He stayed silent.
"I admire that," she continued. "But I prefer structure. Clean agreements. Mutual benefit."
She gestured toward the briefcase. "Inside are non-aggression terms. Asset formalization clauses. Oversight guarantees."
Leon stared at the case.
"I'm not part of anything," he said finally.
"Exactly," Aurelia replied. "That makes you a wild card. Wild cards burn cities."
Leon frowned. "You think I'm dangerous."
"No. I know you are."
A pause.
Then she smiled. Only slightly.
"That's why I'm offering you a seat."
Leon looked at the papers. Then at the men. Then at her.
He didn't know what to do.
So he did what he always did.
He said nothing.
He turned.
And walked away.
Behind him, silence stretched tight like wire.
He waited for the order.
Waited for someone to grab him.
It didn't come.
He reached the edge of the plaza.
Then a voice behind him—low, soft, and calm—drifted after him.
"One chance, Mr. Vale. Decline it again, and next time... you'll face structure without the option."
Leon didn't look back.
He just walked into the night, hands in his pockets, and heart pounding like a drum he couldn't silence.
Behind him, the war changed shape.