The city had not seen such splendor for a long time: lanterns, garlands, spotlights, a street stage. Guests were served drinks on trays, under their feet — white glossy parquet, above — stretched transparent canopies, swaying in the warm evening breeze. Everyone came: politicians, businessmen, celebrities, even a couple of famous heroes in masks - and everyone clapped for Shredder, the newly minted "hero of the city".

He stood on a dais, in a ceremonial version of his armor - smooth, shiny, polished. On his face — a mask of hypocrisy and calm. To his right — the guard, restrainedly guarding the perimeter.

You stood at a high cocktail table, barely resting your elbow on the edge. In the glass —ruby red wine, transparent as blood. A light breeze touched the hem of your dress, and it was as if you merged with this dangerous holiday.

You were wearing a thin, silky dress the color of a charcoal rose, with open shoulders and a high slit on the side, barely noticeably sparkling with every movement. Your hair was done up, elegantly, with a few strands playfully framing your face. Around your neck was a thin chain, sparkling in the light of the lanterns.

April stood next to him, wearing an ochre dress with a low back and gold accents. Her hair was pulled back into a soft ponytail, her earrings were long, almost touching her shoulders. She looked like an undercover journalist and a predator hunter at the same time.

Casey was unrecognizable. His hair was neatly slicked back, his face was clear, without a mask. He was wearing a sharp black suit with a white shirt and a gray tie. He looked like an actor on the red carpet, but with the eyes of a fighter, ready to grab the nearest object and start a fight at any moment.

You and April exchanged glances.

“He’s up to something,” she muttered, looking through the crowd, searching for the undercover ninja. — “Too many reporters. Too much show.”

You nodded, but your gaze was fixed on Shredder. Like you were waiting for… the moment. Vulnerabilities. Or signals.

And high up, on the roof of the neighboring building, shadows. Four.

Leo held the binoculars and watched you.

Shoulders straight. Back tense. Katanas on his back — like an extension of himself. But his eyes... They gave away much more than he wanted to show.

You. In a dress.

He'd seen you in battle, in blood, in mud, in rage. He knew you as brave, strong, ready to die for your people. But now... you were elegant, dazzling. Dangerous in a different way. And he wasn't ready.

"Raph, can you see her?" Mikey muttered into the comm. — "Oh my God, she looks like an actress from an old movie! Is it even legal to look like that?"

"Focus, Mikey." — Leo said quietly.

But even in his voice, something wavered.

"Leo." Donnie said quietly, but with a smile. — "You've been holding the binoculars on her for three minutes. Is that a strategy?"

He didn't answer. He just slowly lowered the binoculars. His face remained stony, but... the corner of his lips twitched slightly. Almost imperceptibly.

At that moment, you slowly turned your head. You felt his gaze. You couldn't know exactly who was watching, but something inside told you. You smiled, thinly, coldly, as if you hadn't noticed anything. But Leo's heart skipped a beat.

He put away the binoculars. — "We're watching. If anything happens, we'll give the signal. Everyone stay close to the edges of the roofs."

But Donnie, Mikey, and Raph knew: Leo wasn't trying to hide from his enemies.

But from himself.