The megacity of New Avalon never slept. It simply changed shifts.
By 7:30 AM, the streets surrounding Redstone Tower had transformed into a river of ambition. Luxury sedans glided past yellow cabs. Coffee vendors shouted over diesel roars. Thousands of sharply dressed elites poured into the seventy-eight-story glass monolith dominating the sky.
Redstone Global Holdings wasn't a corporation. It was an empire.
Banking. AI. Aerospace. Pharmaceuticals. Energy. If an industry shaped the modern world, Redstone owned a piece of it. The tower's glass facade reflected morning sun in blinding fragments, as if the building itself refused to be questioned.
Inside those polished walls, promotions were wars. Friendships were temporary. Power was permanent.
Outside? Power meant absolutely nothing.
Across the street, a bearded man pushed a battered shopping cart. Its wheels squeaked against uneven pavement in a rhythm that seemed to mock the city's frantic pace. His clothes were faded beyond recognition. His boots—patched so many times the original leather had surrendered—were the only things between his feet and frozen ground. Dark, unkempt hair shadowed eyes that possessed an eerie calm.
Economy of motion, an observer might have noted. No wasted energy.
Passersby recoiled. Some wrinkled noses. Others clutched wallets, as if poverty itself were contagious.
A little girl walking with her mother caught his eye and waved—bright, innocent, untainted by the city's ruthless judgment.
The man's lips curved. A faint, warm smile. For a split second, something flickered deep within his tired eyes. Sharp. Terrifying. Ancient.
Her mother yanked the child away violently. "Don't stare!" she hissed, voice laced with disgust. "He's nobody! You'll catch something just looking at him!"
"But Mom," the girl protested, looking back. "He smiled. He doesn't look like a bad guy..."
"We don't have time for this, honey." The mother dragged her faster into the crowd.
The homeless man didn't react. His expression remained utterly unreadable. Inside his cart sat neatly folded blankets, a precision toolbox, water containers, and aluminum cans sorted into flawless, categorized rows.
Everything was arranged with military exactness. A stark contrast to the trash he pushed.
Nothing about him suggested danger. Nothing suggested prestige. He looked like a man the world had thrown away.
They had no idea who was standing at their front door.
SKRRR!
A convoy of sleek, black SUVs pulled to the VIP entrance. Ambient noise died instantly. Employees straightened jackets. Held breath.
"She's here," someone whispered, sweat beading on his forehead. "The General Manager."
"I heard she purged an entire department last week. Missed Q3 targets by two percent."
"It wasn't the whole department. Six senior directors!"
"Same difference..."
The lead SUV's door opened. A black designer heel touched pavement.
Evelyn Carter.
At twenty-seven, she was the youngest General Manager in Redstone's blood-soaked history. Her charcoal suit was tailored to perfection—striking, ice-cold, dominant. Chestnut hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face that belonged on Forbes' cover. Faint shadows lurked beneath her makeup, the only evidence she was human.
She didn't glance at the gossiping crowd. Wasted seconds were cardinal sins.
Inside her head, a lethal clock ticked:
Coffee. Board briefing. Merger review. Legal war. Investor presentation.
Beside her, a young assistant scurried to keep up, clutching three leather folders and an iPad to his chest. His heart hammered against his ribs.
He was her fourth assistant in two months. The last three had suffered mental breakdowns under her god-tier work ethic. He could feel the same invisible vice tightening around his throat.
"G-good morning, Ms. Carter," he stammered, matching her aggressive stride.
Evelyn's heels struck marble like gunfire. "Meeting attendance?"
"Ninety-three percent confirmed!"
"The remaining seven?"
"Two delayed flights. One hospitalized."
"Replace them." Her voice could freeze helium. "No excuses."
"Already done, ma'am. Board seats are filled."
"Legal amendments?"
"Finalized."
"Acquisition documents?"
"Queued for your signature."
Evelyn allowed a single, microscopic nod. A fleeting spark of cold satisfaction settled in her chest.
Perfect.
She stepped through the lobby, completely unaware that across the frozen pavement, the man in rags had finally stopped his cart.
He watched her. His eyes narrowed into razor-sharp slits.
