The civil war in the penthouse finally hit a ceasefire. Philip was still grumbling about his back, Marco was wearing a parka at the dining table, and Rina was treating Chano like he was a particularly offensive piece of malware.
"Alright, enough," Chano announced, clapping his hands. "The ceasefire starts now. Rina, fix Philip's bed and Marco's thermostat. Philip, put the Labobo in a drawer. We're going out."
"Out? Like, past the lobby?" Philip asked, his eyes lighting up. "Your treat, Master?"
"My treat," Chano said. "A truce dinner. High-end steakhouse in Bonifacio High Street. No hacking, no teasing, and absolutely no fake plushies."
Rina narrowed her eyes. "Does this mean you'll stop calling me 'Basement Queen'?"
Chano looked at her, a mischievous glint still in his eyes. "I'll stop... for tonight."
The Truce Dinner
An hour later, the team was tucked into a corner table at an exclusive steakhouse. Even Bella joined them, looking sharp in a silk blouse, while Phenphen was busy taking photos of the expensive appetizers for his foodie blog.
"This is way better than lukewarm water and 'Baby Shark' loops," Phenphen remarked, shoving a piece of wagyu aburi into his mouth.
"Speak for yourself," Marco muttered, finally feeling his toes again. "I'm just happy I don't need a space heater to eat my salad."
The vibe was surprisingly light. Philip told exaggerated stories about his "heroic" struggle with the giant Labobo, while Rina actually cracked a smile as she explained the sheer complexity of the encryption she'd used to lock them out.
"It was elegant, Rina," Chano admitted, raising his wine glass. "If I didn't have the physical schematics for that machine, I would've been drinking herbal tea for a week."
"You still cheated," Rina pouted, but she clinked her glass against his.
The Uninvited Guest
The mood shifted when Chano's phone, sitting face-down on the table, vibrated with a specific, rhythmic pattern. It wasn't a call; it was a proximity alert from the "Shadow-Tag" he'd slapped on the Maybach in the parking lot.
Chano didn't flinch. He took a sip of his wine and glanced at Marco. Marco, a pro to his core, had already felt the change in the air. He stopped eating and subtly shifted his weight to face the entrance.
"Master," Phenphen whispered. His eyes were still on his phone, but he wasn't looking at food photos anymore. He was staring at a live feed from a pocket-cam. "We've got a tail. Black SUV, three blocks back since we left the tower. Now, there are two guys at the bar who haven't ordered a drink in ten minutes."
"Description?" Chano asked quietly.
"Standard tactical gear under light jackets," Phenphen reported. "Not the Greasy Man. These guys actually know how to blend in."
Bella put her fork down, her corporate mask sliding back into place. "Scorpion Group?"
"Probably," Chano said. "They're getting bold. They know we're all in one spot."
The Diversion
Rina reached for her bag, her face pale. "Should I... should I try to jam their comms?"
"No," Chano said, placing a steadying hand on her arm. "If you do that, they'll know we've spotted them. We're going to play this cool."
He looked at Philip, who was currently finishing a massive ribeye. "Philip, remember that 'Labobo' skill of yours? The one where you act like a complete lunatic?"
Philip grinned, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Always ready, Master. What's the move?"
"We're leaving through the kitchen," Chano commanded. "Marco, take Bella and Rina to the secondary vehicle. Phenphen, you're with them—I need you monitoring the street cams. Philip and I are going to stay behind and give our friends at the bar something to look at."
"Wait, you're staying?" Rina asked, her voice laced with worry.
Chano gave her a reassuring smirk. "Don't worry, Queen. I've got a hardware bypass for this situation, too."
As Marco led the women toward the back, Philip stood up and began loudly complaining about the bill, waving his arms and "accidentally" knocking over a chair. It was the perfect "obnoxious patron" distraction.
As the men at the bar turned their attention to the commotion, Chano slipped into the shadows of the hallway, his eyes locked on the exit. The truce was over. The real game was back on.