Astoria Apartments stood in a quiet corner of Queens, its polished marble lobby gleaming beneath an ornate chandelier.
Joren entered without hesitation.
A uniformed doorman stepped forward.
"Sir, residents—"
Joren stopped him with a single glance and walked toward the mailboxes.
A bluish-purple blur flickered past him.
Star Platinum's fingers slipped through the metal lock.
Click.
Mailbox 3B — Felicia Hardy opened.
Empty.
Behind him, the doorman muttered nervously about "resident verification."
Joren looked back.
The man fell silent instantly.
He turned toward the elevator.
Third Floor — Unit B
Star Platinum struck the lock with precise force.
The door opened.
Dust drifted in the air.
The apartment was empty.
No furniture.
No scent of habitation.
Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating drifting motes of dust.
Joren walked slowly through the space.
No footprints.
No fur.
No signs of recent life.
Either the shop owner lied…
—or she had been misled.
Joren pressed his fingers lightly against his forehead.
So it wouldn't be simple.
He closed the door and left.
As if he had never been there.
The Next Day
Joren visited nearly every registered pet store in Queens.
"A caracal? Never heard of it."
"Protected species. Illegal."
"Twenty thousand dollars? Kid, if I had that money I wouldn't run a pet shop."
Nothing.
The thief was cautious.
No official purchase trail.
Which meant black-market acquisition.
Or connections.
Night
Joren returned home with groceries.
Dinner: simple spaghetti Bolognese.
After eating, he did not read.
Did not turn on the television.
He drank a glass of milk.
Then left.
Rooftop Vigil
He chose an unfinished ten-story building.
Security minimal.
Visibility excellent.
He climbed to the roof.
Wind tugged at his coat.
Queens stretched below in a sea of lights.
He sat cross-legged near the edge.
Closed his eyes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Slow. Measured.
Ripple breathing.
Blood accelerated through his veins.
Energy spread from his heart into his limbs.
Ripple energy originates from breath and blood.
Oxygen → cellular energy → vibrational transmission.
Though conducting Ripple through the ground weakened it, the spread was sufficient.
From his body, vibrations flowed into concrete… into steel… into the city's skeleton.
He had selected the location carefully.
The thief would not operate in poor districts.
She would hunt wealth.
Middle- and upper-class zones were sufficient.
He waited.
For dissonance.
Time passed.
Then—
Nine o'clock.
A faint rhythmic vibration reached him from the northeast.
Not Spider-Man.
Peter traveled loudly, swinging with reckless momentum.
This sound was different.
Running.
Leaping.
Precise landings.
Light.
Predatory.
Like a hunting cat.
Found you.
Joren opened his eyes.
Adjusted his hat brim.
Stepped off the roof.
Freefall
Wind roared past his ears.
The ground rushed upward.
Just before impact—
Star Platinum appeared.
ORA!
It grasped his arm and redirected the momentum.
Joren landed silently in a dark alley.
He disappeared into the night.
Meanwhile…
Felicia Hardy loved this feeling.
Moving across rooftops like a shadow.
Silver hair brushed by the night wind.
The sleeping city below.
Freedom.
Risk.
Elegance.
Tonight's target: a Park Avenue penthouse jewelry collector.
Security systems?
Infrared sensors?
Pressure floors?
Merely seasoning for the game.
She leapt a gap.
Landed silently.
Paused.
A chill crawled up her spine.
Felicia spun.
Nothing.
Only neon lights flickering in the distance.
Her instincts were rarely wrong.
She moved faster.
Two rooftops passed.
The sensation returned.
Stronger.
Like unseen eyes tracking her.
Felicia stopped.
Every muscle tightened.
She drew a retractable baton from her kit.
"Who's there?"
Her voice cut through the wind.
No answer.
Only air moving between buildings.
She backed toward a ventilation unit, scanning the shadows.
Then—
A tall figure stepped from beside a rooftop water tower.
Hat low.
Face hidden.
Hands in pockets.
Unhurried.
Yet suffocatingly oppressive.
Felicia's heartbeat quickened.
She hadn't heard him approach.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Police? Or competition?"
He stopped five meters away.
"Return what you took."
Felicia blinked.
Then laughed.
"Your things?"
She shifted into a fighting stance.
"I don't remember stealing any school supplies, kid."
Her baton flicked open with a metallic snap.
Her eyes narrowed.
Whoever he was…
he wasn't ordinary.
And she had never liked being hunted.