10. Chapter ten #2
She doesn’t push it, doesn’t make it weird. Just keeps walking, knowing better than to dig at me when I’m already out of character.
We go on, boots crunching against stone, nearing the last building tucked into the corner of the wall.
The Den. Joyeus’ domain. Of course she’d set herself up here, chambers high above the rot she makes her coin from.
Staying right atop the filth like she thinks it elevates her instead of just proving she’s queen of the gutter.
“Kieran loved the cheesy bread you brought over yesterday,” I finally say to break the silence as I flick the smoke away.
Tass kicks at a loose rock, sighing. “Good, but it’s always bread, fucking fish or vegetables. If I see another damn zucchini, Max, I swear I’m going to start throwing them at people. I want something else. Something real.”
I arch a brow at her. “Like?”
“Like some damn potatoes that aren’t rotten,” she goes on, more dramatic by the second. “I want those long, weird ones. Remember those potato sticks when we were up north last spring? Hot, greasy, salty…”
“Fries?” I supply.
Her whole face lights. “Yes. Fries. I want fucking fries. Gods, I’d trade my boots for them. Hell, I’d even smile at the Council if they gave me a plate.”
Her words fade into the night as our pace slows, the mood shifting without either of us saying a thing.
The Den rises ahead, dark and hulking, its white brick walls cracked and lanterns throwing shadows across stone balconies and shuttered windows.
The smell of sex and alcohol drifts down, mixing with the sour stench of the street.
We don’t need to speak. We never do, not when it’s time to work. One look is enough and we slip into that rhythm, the one where every step, every breath lines up like we’ve been doing this our whole lives.
Which is partly true.
We move to a patch of the wall where the light doesn’t reach and scale down easily, skipping the main entrance.
The Den’s wooden doors are wide, guarded by men too bored to realize they’re nothing but decoration.
We cut away from them, sliding into the shadows along the side wall, under a line of palm trees, our boots quiet on the stone.
At the north corner, the emergency stairs go up and up, tucked between the wall and the building. We climb quickly, practiced, the muffled sounds of music, laughter, and moans from inside following us up.
The lock on the fifth-floor door to Joyeus’ domain is a fucking joke; Tass picks it easily enough while I watch her back like promised. Inside there’s nothing but silence. Good.
The hallway is bright. Carpets thicker than anything I’ve ever seen, imported wood paneling, mirrors, paintings in gold leaf, plants everywhere. A chandelier hangs overhead, crystals catching every flicker of light. Everything is over the top, dripping decadence.
Tass and I share a look. This isn’t just luxury. It’s obscene. Nobody on this island has this. Nobody but Joyeus.
The whole top floor is hers, carved out as a kingdom while the rest of the city rots.
We move quietly, shadows in a place drowning in light, the carpet swallowing our steps as we head for the lone door at the end of the short hall. Tass crouches for another lock—
Behind us, a door clicks open.
Shit .
We melt into the corner, pressed behind a potted palm. Tass’s shoulder brushes mine as we hunch, her breath steady while my hand closes around the hilt at my hip.
A man steps out. Broad frame. Swagger in his stride. My gut twists when recognition slams into me—the rotten bastard from the bar. The one who went after Kieran.
I want to end him right here, right now. The beast inside me slams against its cage, but Tass grips my knee and squeezes, a sharp warning.
The guy stretches, rolls his neck, and for a sick second I think he’ll glance back and catch us. He’s too close. If he sees us—
But he doesn’t. He rakes a hand through greasy hair, mutters something under his breath, and staggers toward the elevator at the far end, vanishing inside.
A click on my left tells me Tass already picked the lock.
We go in.
We already know Joyeus is out, parading through the northern villages, collecting her cut and pretending she’s some kind of savior. Which makes now the only chance we’ll get.
Her chambers drip with excess. Rugs thick enough to drown in, carved furniture polished to a shine, shelves stacked with liquor so old the labels have peeled away.
Tass drags her hand along a velvet chair and points to something on a cabinet, muttering: “what the fuck is that?”
I glance over to the white electronic device. I’ve seen it before. It’s an old game computer, right next to her television set. It’s humming faintly, lights intact, like they made it yesterday. Nobody has that. Not here. Not anywhere.
Once this shit is done, I’m stealing that for Kieran.
We move deeper. Her bedroom reeks of perfume and silk, sheets trimmed with lace, jewels scattered across a vanity like they mean nothing. Tass lifts a necklace, scoffs, and drops it back. Everything about this place screams untouchable wealth.
Her office is the hardest to crack. Heavy oak door, reinforced lock, not the flimsy kind used anywhere else on the island. It takes both of us working in silence until the mechanism finally clicks. We slip inside, careful to set the latch back, leaving no trace.
And that’s when we see it.
Tucked behind a stack of sealed envelopes sits the machine. Compact, heavy, steel plates and a hand crank. Letters still faintly pressed into its dye, ghosts of names and numbers stamped again and again.
A tag press.
A dog tag embosser.
The kind used to punch identities into metal, like they do at the registration office. Where the only press on this island gets locked away every night.
Tass and I lock eyes. My gut twists. Only Watchers and clerks are allowed near that thing. But Joyeus has her own.
We fan out, careful to leave no fingerprints, no trace. Tass flips through ledgers, frowning at the neat columns of names. I dig through drawers and find scraps of tags, some stamped, some blank, some with names I don’t recognize. People who might not even exist.
The embosser squats on the desk like a silent accusation. Proof Joyeus can make and unmake identities. Decide who lives here and who doesn’t.
Tass whistles. I glance over. She’s crouched beside a shelf with tags, lifting a black boxy contraption I have seen a few times before.
“A working camera,” she confirms my thoughts, voice low. “Sami fixed it up for me. Showed me how to use it. We can take pictures and he can put them on the computer back at the Watchers’ castle.”
She lifts it, lines up the shot.
The flash pops, sudden and blinding. We both freeze, hearts thundering, blinking like fucking owls.
“What the fuck was that?” I nearly fucking growl.
Tass grins, feral, hugging the camera to her chest. “That was so cool!”
“Careful,” I growl. “That thing’s dangerous.”
“Yeah,” she smirks, staring lovingly at it. “But now we can show people what she’s hiding.”
I glance back at the embosser and the fake tags scattered around it. Proof. Or a death sentence, depending who sees it.
“Make some more pictures and then pocket it,” I mutter. “We should leave.”
She does as I say, while I keep my eyes closed for the fucking flash. After, we reset everything, shut the drawers, make sure every paper is in place, and then we leave the office.
By the time we slip back into the night, are back on the wall, Joyeus’ rooms look untouched.
But my head’s buzzing, ribs aching with every breath, because I know what we just saw changes everything.
Tass shows me the camera when we get back to the hotel where Kieran is, grinning like a wolf. “Happy fucking birthday to Kieran. This’ll get her sentenced before he turns eighteen.”
“You know he’s twenty,” I mutter.
“Yes, but this will get him out of that stupid deal.”
I don’t reply. I don’t grin back.
Because it’s not enough. Not yet. We’ve got the machine on film, proof she’s running her own press, but my gut says this is just the surface. Joyeus is too careful, too greedy. There’s more buried under the silk and gold, more rot behind the perfume.
We’ll show Roe. We’ll get him to look. But I know to my very core that this won’t be what brings her down.
This isn’t the end.
It’s just the beginning.