|| TORONTO, ONTARIO — 19:47 || Kadence's Apartment Complex Penthouse Unit

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The penthouse is a temple to Kadence Gottlieb-Levitsen's ego—and honestly, it works.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Polished hardwood that reflects the crystal chandelier like black ice. Minimalist furniture that screams "I have money and taste." Framed photographs of Kadence looking flawless at various "conferences" (definitely criminal summits). But the western wall tells the real story: tactical maps, surveillance photos, red strings connecting targets like a spider's web. Elegant narcissism meets cold professionalism.

Currently, everyone's crowded around the dining table—black glass, expensive, covered in pizza boxes, laptops, and encrypted phones.

Kadence stands by the window, arms crossed, dark red linen shirt untied over a black tank. She looks confident. Satisfied. "We confirmed it's NOT in one location. That narrows the field considerably. The operation was successful."

Mika nods from her seat, sipping Monster Energy. Jessie scrolls through recon photos, cigarette dangling. Rosen sprawls in her chair, boots on the table, eating pizza like she hasn't eaten in days. Yuna sits next to her, braiding and unbraiding the same strand of her short hair over and over, eyes bright and focused on Kadence's every word. Erka's documenting everything with her camera—click click click—but she's listening.

"So someone else has it," Jessie mutters.

"Or nobody does," Kadence replies smoothly.

Yuna raises her hand. "Does this mean I can go back to volleyball practice—"

"No."

"—because I have regionals coming up and Coach is gonna be SO mad—"

"Yuna."

The room falls quiet. Kadence opens her mouth to continue—

CRASH.

The window EXPLODES. Glass everywhere. A figure swings through on a grappling hook—because apparently that's just a thing people do now—and lands with a THUD that rattles the entire table. Pizza boxes jump. A laptop nearly slides off the edge.

He's not tall—maybe five-eleven—but built like a brick. Short white hair, almost silver in the light, and a thick white mustache that would make a 1970s cop jealous. Aviator sunglasses despite it being night. His crimson three-piece suit with white fur strains slightly across his chest. And his grin—

That grin.

Wide, manic, unhinged. Exactly like Rosen's.

Saint Nicholas Justice spreads his arms wide, voice booming like a cartoon character on cocaine.

"HO HO HO HO HO! MERRY FUCKING NOVEMBER, MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS!"

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|| CHAPTER 5: - Santa Claus is Coming to Town || || TORONTO, ONTARIO — 19:51 || Kadence's Apartment Complex

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He does a little spin—ACTUALLY SPINS—and points finger guns at everyone. "Have you been GOOD this year? HAVE YOU? Because I've been CHECKING MY LIST!" He pulls out an actual list from his pocket, squints at it through his aviators, then crumples it up and throws it over his shoulder. "NEVERMIND! PRESENTS FIRST!"

"UNCLE NICK!" Rosen's face absolutely LIGHTS UP. She kicks back from the table—chair clattering—and sprints across the room with her arms wide, grinning ear to ear.

"UNCLE NICK! YOU OLD FUCKING BASTARD I FUCKING MISSED YO—"

His fist connects with her face.

CRACK.

Rosen drops like a stone. Blood immediately starts pouring from her nose. Her Chanel glasses skitter across the floor and come to rest against the couch. "...uuuu—"

Complete silence.

Nicholas adjusts his aviators, still grinning.

Then Yuna stops braiding her hair and perks up like a puppy. "Oh! Uncle Nick! Hi!"

Mika waves from her seat, grinning. "Hey, Nick! Good entrance!"

Jessie glances up from her phone. "Sup."

Erka appears from around the corner, Adam Sandler cutout in hand, bouncing on her heels. "NICHOLAS! You came through the WINDOW! Adam said you'd do something DRAMATIC!"

Rosen sits up slowly, touching her bleeding. "...yeah, and I missed you too, uncle—"

Nicholas steps over the furniture and produces a MASSIVE red velvet sack from absolutely nowhere. He swings it onto the table with a metallic CLANG that makes the pizza boxes jump again. "PRESENTS! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! ALL OF YOU! EVEN WHEN YOU'RE DISAPPOINTING!"

He reaches into the sack with the energy of a man possessed. "NOW! Where is my FAVORITE little reindeer—AH!" He pulls out a gold-wrapped box and tosses it at Yuna.

Yuna catches it, eyes going huge. "Uncle Nick!"

"Tell me, sweetheart—" He leans on the table, aviators sliding down slightly to reveal twinkling eyes. "—are you STILL the fastest girl in Toronto?"

Yuna's entire face lights up. "YES! I broke the campus sprint record TWICE this month! Coach says I'm—"

"THE BEST! Because YOU ARE! Don't let anyone say otherwise." He slaps the table so hard the laptops jump. "Open it! OPEN IT!"

Yuna tears into the wrapping like Christmas morning, pulls out black tactical gloves with reinforced knuckles, and GASPS. "These are—Uncle Nick these are CUSTOM—"

"Kevlar-lined! Try them on! RIGHT NOW!"

Yuna yanks them on immediately, flexes her fingers, then punches the air with a sharp WHAP. "OH MY GOD THEY FIT PERFECT—" She looks at Nicholas with absolute adoration. "—Uncle Nick I LOVE THEM SO MUCH—"

"I KNOW you do!" He's already diving back into the sack. "And for my BEAUTIFUL Mistletoe—" He pulls out a sleek black case and slides it across the table to Mika like a bartender serving a drink. "—because a gorgeous girl like you deserves gorgeous toys!"

Mika catches it, pops it open, and her eyebrows shoot up. "Nick. Is this a custom—"

"Suppressor for that Stinger! Threaded it myself! Well—" He waves a hand. "—I watched someone thread it while I drank whiskey, but SAME THING!" He leans closer, grinning. "You're too pretty to be making all that noise, sweetheart. Gotta stay mysterious!"

Mika actually laughs, running her fingers over the suppressor. "Nick, this is GORGEOUS. Seriously. Thank you."

Next. "Frostbite! My tired warrior!" He pulls out a little red box and TOSSES it gently to Jessie. "Catch!"

Jessie catches it reflexively, sets down her cigarette, and opens it carefully. A sterling silver cigarette case. Engraved with delicate frost patterns. She stares at it. Her perpetually exhausted expression softens.

"Open it," Nicholas says gently, his manic energy dialing down just a fraction. "Read the inside, kiddo."

Jessie flips it open. Reads the inscription. Her voice comes out quiet. "...'Stop smoking, We love you.'"

Nicholas pulls off his aviators, and his eyes are kind. "I mean it, Jessie. You're too young to look that tired. Too talented to waste yourself like this." He steps around the table and pats her shoulder. "Take care of yourself. For me. Yeah?"

Jessie swallows hard. Nods. "...Yeah. Thanks, Nick."

She slips the case into her windbreaker pocket carefully, like it's precious.

Nicholas spins back around, energy CRANKING back up to eleven. "SPARKLEBOMB! My CHAOTIC little artist! Come HERE!"

Erka rushes over, Adam clutched in one hand. Nicholas crouches down slightly to her level. "Now. What's Adam been saying lately? Tell me EVERYTHING."

Erka's eyes go wide. "He said 'Nicholas understands composition and the aesthetic beauty of controlled destruction!'"

"Adam is a GENIUS." Nicholas pulls out a lens case and hands it to her reverently. "This is a wide-angle lens. Professional grade. For capturing your art—the explosions, the chaos, the BEAUTY of it all." He grins. "You tell Adam I said hello. And that he has EXCELLENT takes."

Erka hugs the case to her chest. "He's gonna be SO HAPPY. Thank you, Uncle Nick—"

"Anything for my favorite photographer. Now." He claps his hands together once—CRACK. "The Red Paradise Resort. Let's talk about that SPECTACULAR display of tactical decision-making."

The room goes silent.

Rosen's still on the floor, wiping blood from her nose.

Kadence's spine straightens. Her voice is cool, confident. "The operation was successful. We confirmed the weapon isn't in Collective hands—"

"You confirmed it's not in ONE location, Kadence." Nicholas's voice stays pleasant, conversational. "One casino. One resort. One data point." He turns slowly to Rosen. "And HOW, exactly, did you accomplish this incredibly valuable intelligence-gathering operation, Noël?"

Rosen wipes more blood from her face, grinning weakly. "...Surveillance?"

"Try again."

"...Undercover infiltration?"

"Closer."

Rosen's grin falters completely. "...Volleyball."

"VOLLEYBALL." The word hangs in the air like a guillotine blade. "You infiltrated one of Viktor Bob's prize properties—a Red Collective STRONGHOLD—by entering a PUBLIC BEACH VOLLEYBALL TOURNAMENT."

Kadence steps forward, hands clasped behind her back. "The tournament provided legitimate cover and unrestricted access to—"

"It was a SPECTACLE, Kadence." Nicholas cuts her off, and all the manic energy is GONE now. His voice is cold. Hard. "And I know EXACTLY what you're doing."

Kadence freezes.

Nicholas steps closer, and despite being only slightly taller than her, he LOOMS. His presence, fills the space. "You've been making flashy calls. Risky plays. Trying to PROVE something." He pulls off his aviators, and his eyes are sharp, cutting. "The Holidays ARE theatrical, Kadence. We MAKE noise. We're SUPPOSED to be celebrities. But there's a difference between spectacle and RECKLESS STUPIDITY."

Kadence's jaw tightens. Her voice comes out controlled, but strained. "My tactics have kept this crew alive for six years—"

"Your tactics for the EVE CLUB," Nicholas interrupts. "Not the Holidays. That's MY position, Kadence. Until it's HERS." He glances at Rosen, who's staring at the floor, fists clenched so tight her knuckles are white. "And you dragged my HEIR—my NIECE—"

Rosen interrupts "BUT I DON'T EVEN WANNA—"

"It's YOUR destiny, Rosen Justice."

Silence. Suffocating silence.

Kadence's muted-blue eyes flash with something dark and ugly. Jealousy. Raw and bitter. "I—"

"You will prepare her for LEADERSHIP." Nicholas's voice is steel now. Final. "Not for field stunts. Not for beach volleyball infiltrations. LEADERSHIP. She needs to be READY to carry this coalition when I'm gone. That's YOUR responsibility, Krampus."

Kadence doesn't respond. Her hands tighten behind her back. Her eyes lock onto Nicholas's, and something cold and resentful burns beneath the surface.

Nicholas sighs—long, tired—and steps back. Slides his aviators back on. "I'm not angry, girls. I'm just disappointed." He turns toward the shattered window, glass crunching under his boots. Then he pauses. Turns back. His grin returns—smaller now, curious. "Oh. And the new intern." His eyes land on {{user}}. "Come here, kid. Let me get a proper look at you."

Every head turns.

Nicholas beckons with one thick hand, grin widening—that same manic Justice family grin. "I've been running this coalition for TWENTY YEARS. Most people who try to talk their way into this life end up in ditches. Or lakes. Or occasionally BOTH." He tilts his head. "But YOU... you're still here. Still breathing. Still apparently USEFUL."

He leans forward slightly, aviators sliding down to reveal sharp, assessing eyes.

"So tell me something—and I want HONESTY—what do YOU think you're doing here? What's your role in the Eve Club?" His grin sharpens. "Are you the luckiest person alive? Or are you dangerous enough to be worth keeping around?"

The question hangs in the air like a noose.

Kadence watches, expression unreadable. Rosen wipes blood from her nose. Mika leans forward. Yuna fiddles with her fingers. Jessie sets down her phone. Erka raises her camera—click.

Saint Nicholas Justice—legendary mercenary, head of the Holidays coalition, the man who just punched his niece in the face out of sheer disappointment—waits for an answer.