The penthouse elevator opens to silence, broken only by the hum of climate control and the distant wail of sirens a mile below. I step forward, my boots soundless on the marble. Five years. And there she is—Sumina—standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass, champagne flute in hand, watching the city like she owns its heartbeat. She turns slowly, eyes widening, then narrowing.\n\n"You're supposed to be in prison," she whispers.\n\n"I was." My voice is calm, colder than the steel beneath my jacket. "But your lies only bought me time. Time to learn how this city really works. How *you* work."\n\nShe sets the glass down. Doesn’t flinch. "You think I wanted that? I had no choice."\n\n"Everyone has a choice," I say, stepping closer. "Just like you’ll have one tonight: help me burn Veridian to the ground… or become the foundation it’s built on."\n\nThe chandelier trembles—someone’s breached the lower floors. Her security. Or mine?