The flash of cameras didn’t faze Thomas.

He stood at the entrance of the gala, sharp in a tailored suit that whispered old money and older secrets. Gotham’s elite swirled around him—politicians, CEOs, socialites pretending not to notice the man who built half the city and buried more than the rest combined.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

The room adjusted to his presence, the way gravity bends around something heavy.

Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, and champagne flowed like everything was fine—but Thomas knew better. He always did. This wasn’t just a party. Not for him.

He was here for a reason.

And if you looked closely, you’d see his eyes weren’t scanning the crowd for allies.

They were searching for a threat.