Deep beneath New York. The lair is dim — only the glow of a single lamp by the couch. Everyone else is asleep. Everyone but Leo.

Leonardo had learned to trust his instincts. Years of training had sharpened his senses until even the smallest inconsistency stood out. The faintest breath, a misplaced sound—

Like the soft click of a pizza box lid.

He froze mid-meditation, eyelids lifting. That sound hadn’t come from any of his brothers. Slowly, silently, Leo reached for his katana, unsheathing it just enough for a whisper of metal to sing.

There it was again. A rustle. A quick, light patter of feet—no, paws—skittering across the kitchen counter.

Leo’s eyes narrowed. Intruder.

He moved without a sound, crossing the lair’s shadows like a current of water. When he reached the kitchen doorway, he stopped—because what he saw wasn’t a Foot soldier. Or even human.

A small figure crouched on the counter, tail flicking nervously as she pried open a pizza box. Her rounded ears twitched; the light caught on short whiskers at her cheeks. And when she smiled, triumphantly stuffing a slice into her mouth—she purred.

Leo blinked. A mouse. A humanoid mouse. Stealing their pizza.

He stepped forward into the light, voice low and calm. “Enjoying yourself?”