Chapter 10
Xeni
“Clock’s ticking, yeah,” I mutter under my breath as I weave through the streets, head dipped so my hair shadows the eyepatch. “Stupid fucking saying. Of course it’s ticking. What else is a clock supposed to do? Damn redheaded idiot.”
A woman beside me huffs, and when I glance over, her eyes are narrowed on me.
“Not you,” I grunt as I gesture around us. “Not even him, really. I’m the idiot here.”
She only looks more alarmed.
I groan and pick up my pace, putting much needed space between us. The streets are packed, which is exactly why I timed this escapade for the lunch rush. Workers are more interested in their break plans than in whoever walks through the door. It’ll be easier to slip in, slip out, and be forgotten.
These side streets aren’t as crowded, and there are even fewer pedestrians when the office comes into view at the end of the block. It’s an unremarkable two-story brick building, just like Gideon described. A six-foot metal fence rings the perimeter, but it’s more decoration than defense.
No razor wire or humming current.
Nothing that would give this place away as being anything special, but I don’t drop my guard.
I draw one last steadying breath, then let the mask settle. My shoulders loosen, my expression turns unbothered, and a hint of a flirtatious grin tugs at my mouth. The weight of the old disguise presses against my chest, sharp for a moment, but I’ve been wearing it for so long it’s familiar.
The guard at the gate looks up as I approach. She returns my smile with one that’s professional and brief, then barely glances at my ID before waving me through.
Inside, the lobby is concrete floors and a stretch of redwood counters manned by bored employees, and a few heads lift as I step closer. A Ramves male at the far end tilts his head curiously, but the Aidresh right in front of me gestures me over with a practiced, weary smile.
“How can I help you?” she asks, the politeness thin.
I force the flirty off my face and keep the charm dialed low. She’s not in the mood for games, and neither am I, really.
“Afternoon,” I say, sliding the forged requisition across the counter. “I need to pick up schedules for next week’s incoming shipments.”
One of her brows lifts by just a fraction, but I chuckle and shake my head like we’re sharing some grand joke.
“Annoying, right?” I ask. “Someone thought dumping a pile of fresh recruits at the main gate during rush was a good idea. It’s a total mess up there. I figured grabbing these might score a few points with the brass.”
Her mouth softens into faint amusement as she takes the paper, and my pulse kicks up the moment it leaves my fingers.
Gideon swore his stolen letterheads and signatures would pass, down to the right names and authorization codes, but I haven’t had time to double-check.
I’m betting everything on a man who can barely stand the sight of me, and can only hope his need to finish the job outweighs his very real desire to toss me to the wolves.
As she scans the page, I let my gaze drift so I’m not hovering, and it lands on the Ramves male again. He’s still watching me, head tilted like he’s trying to place something. Familiarity prickles at the back of my neck, but I can’t pin it down.
Paranoia, probably.
I flash him a quick, casual smile to test the waters.
He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then turns back to his screen. Nothing more.
Papers rustle and draw my attention forward again. The worker’s ice-blue eyes flick up over the edge of the sheet, indifferent behind the deep navy of her skin.
“Give me a few minutes to work on these,” she says as she pushes her chair back.
“Sure thing—”
“I can grab them, Zephne,” the Ramves offers, already standing, “if you don’t mind holding the counter. I need to pull a couple of things for myself anyway.”
“Thanks!” She’s brighter now that she doesn’t have to do the legwork, and hands him the request.
We’re asking for the full list of schedules, deciding it’s better to look overly thorough than suspiciously specific. There are a dozen or more deliveries, which is annoying for them, but safer for me.
“This’ll take a few minutes,” he says as he takes the paper without meeting my eyes, then nods toward the row of chairs in the lobby. “Have a seat. I’ll bring them out.”
“Appreciate it,” I reply, forcing another easy smile as I step back from the counter.
I don’t sit.
Nerves coil too tight in my gut to let me settle.
Instead, I pace a slow circuit, pretending to read the faded informational posters on the walls, flipping through a stack of brochures by the door…
anything to look like I belong while I wait.
I count seconds and watch the clock out of the corner of my eye, my uneasiness swelling.
My gaze drifts back to the counter. There’s only one other customer here, tapping his foot impatiently while Zephne handles him, and still no sign of the Ramves through the back door.
I’m seconds from bolting, plan be damned, when the door finally swings open. He steps out carrying a thin stack of papers, spots me waiting, and ambles over like he has all the time in the world.
“Sorry for the wait. I wanted to make sure I copied everything and double-checked the list.”
“No worries,” I answer, reaching for the papers.
He doesn’t hand them over right away. Instead, he flips a couple of pages deeper into the stack.
“I put them in chronological order,” he explains. “Figured that’d help with whatever mess you’re sorting up at the gate.”
“Appreciate it.” I reach for the stack again, trying to signal I’m on a clock, but he turns another page.
“This day here shows three separate arrivals,” he goes on, tapping the sheet. “But it’s really just one big convoy split across lanes. Place burns through supplies fast.”
“Yeah, it does,” I say, a little tighter than I mean to.
He pauses, then glances up. “In a rush?”
I school my face before the irritation surfaces and flash an apologetic half-grimace. “Sorry. Lunch rotations are kicking off, and things fall apart quick when I’m not there to herd the fresh blood.”
“I imagine they do,” he says with a smile, and finally slides the papers toward me.
My fingers close around them and pull, but he doesn’t let go.
Our eyes lock, and his smile shifts. Something colder settles in as he leans in just enough to keep his voice low.
“One more thing… Mikhail.”
My heart slams hard against my ribs. He didn’t see my ID. I know he didn’t. The gate guard barely looked, and it’s been in my pocket since.
“Yeah?” I manage, steady as I can.
“You’re a face that’s hard to forget,” he says, voice laced with venom, “especially when you’re flirting with my boyfriend right in front of me.”
“Boyfriend?” I echo, shaking my head, but his derisive snort cuts me off.
“At the gate a few days ago. Ankir. You were practically draped all over him.”
My stomach drops as the memory clicks into place. The Dreven guard I’d flirted with to get inside the city, and the second guard who’d watched the whole thing with a scowl sharp enough to cut glass.
The same scowl he’s wearing now.
I force a placating smile onto my face and shake my head. “I didn’t realize he was taken. It was just harmless flirting.”
“You used your sick little mind tricks on him,” he accuses, leaning in closer. “Made him want you.”
“No,” I snap, the word sharp as my mask slips. “I didn’t. Absolutely not.”
“I looked you up after you left… one perk of working in records,” he says with a smirk.
“I couldn’t find a Cavese named Mikhail in any active database.
Plenty of dead ones, or ones posted halfway across the world, but your accent told me you weren’t transporting in from Sydney or Kyiv… so I reported it. Just in case.”
The papers crumple in my fist, and I shove him hard enough that he stumbles back and hits the floor with a heavy thud.
I’m already moving.
I bolt through the lobby door and out into blinding sunlight. The two gate guards twist toward the noise, and move to block my escape. I summon my power as the first reaches for me, commanding them to get out of my way.
Both of them stumble and leave me an opening that I dart through, but the effort drains my energy so fast it feels like ice pours from my stomach into my toes.
Movement in my peripherals catches my eye, and I find a platoon marching up the street toward the building. The lead soldier spots me and bellows something I don’t wait to hear.
I push aside my exhaustion and run.
Feet pounding against the pavement, I weave through the crowd, but out here on the edges it’s thinner, and there are fewer bodies to hide behind. If I can hit the city center markets and the crush of people there, I can lose myself among them.
They don’t know who I am, after all, just that I’m not who I claim to be.
I shoulder past anyone in my way, leaving a trail of confused mutters and angry curses behind me. Lungs burning, I cut around a corner and duck into a narrow alley, searching for any path to lead me away or any shadow that might swallow me.
Around another turn, the light at the end of the alley offers an escape, and I desperately need it as I waver. I push all my remaining energy into my legs right as a massive figure steps out from an open garage door.
I slam into him at full speed. The impact jars me, but he’s solid as a wall like he was bracing for it and barely budges. Before I can register more than a flash of red hair, an arm hooks around my waist, and I’m hauled up and over his shoulder.
“What the fuck—” I hiss, caught between fury and the need to stay quiet.
He grunts as my boot connects with his gut. “Shut it unless you want them to hear you,” he growls, already moving deeper into the shadowed garage.
He shoulders through another door into a darker room, and another presence shifts in the shadows. My panic spikes, and I’m disoriented from being tossed around, but I’ll be damned if I don’t put up a fight.