Carys
The service tunnels weren’t built for comfort. I descended the maintenance ladder, boots finding each rung by memory. Flinx clung to my shoulder, his claws puncturing my jacket just enough to stay secure.
The route never got easier, just more familiar.
Flinx sent.
“You hate everything that isn’t climate-controlled.”
The junction station opened up at the bottom. Pipes ran along the ceiling, carrying water to the manufactured beaches up top. Down here, everything exposed its mechanics. No decorative panels hiding the infrastructure. Just the truth of what kept Valyria’s fantasy running.
A Merrith waited near the central hub. Her six-fingered hands sorted components on a workbench built from salvaged cargo crates. She looked up as I approached, her large eyes reflecting the overhead lights.
“Curator.”
“Renna.” I pulled my slate from my pocket. “You got my list?”
“Some of it.” She gestured to three items.
I picked up the power source. The weight felt right. “Krelaxian military issue.”
“Was. Now it’s salvage.” Her pointed ears twitched. “Legally obtained salvage.”
“I didn’t ask.” I turned it over, checking the output specifications. Perfect. “Price?”
“Information. I need access codes to the villa’s environmental systems. Sections seven through twelve.”
“Guest quarters.”
“I’m aware.”
I set the power source down and met her eyes. Years of this. Every transaction a negotiation. Every negotiation a risk. “What are you planning?”
“To not freeze when management cuts heating to the staff areas.” Her ears flattened. “Access codes. That’s the price.”
I pulled up the codes on my slate, transferred them to a disposable chip, and handed it over. “They expire in seventy-two hours.”
“Acceptable. I can make my backdoors in time.” She pocketed the chip and pushed all three components toward me. “Anything else?”
“The stabilizer I asked about.”
“Still sourcing it. Two weeks.”
“I might not have two weeks.”
Her ears perked up. “Timeline moved?”
“Variables changed.” I slipped the components into my jacket. Power source against my ribs. Spoofer in the breast pocket. The relay I tested last, checking its weight. “Secondary supplier?”
“For that item? No.” She organized her remaining components by size. Everything had its place, even chaos. “But I know someone who might know someone. It’ll cost extra.”
“Everything costs extra.”
“Then you’ll pay.”
Flinx sent.
My stomach tightened. “We’re done.”
Renna’s ears flattened completely. “West passage. Faster exit.”
I moved before she finished. The west passage branched off the junction, narrower but less trafficked. Flinx dug his claws harder into my shoulder.
Flinx warned.
“Can you identify him?”
I reached the first turn and stopped. Running confirmed guilt. Standing my ground invited questions. The middle option involved pretending I had legitimate business and hoping he’d believe it.
Footsteps sounded behind me. Measured. Unhurried. Someone who knew exactly where I was and wasn’t worried about catching up.
Brevan Korven rounded the corner.
He’d changed since the museum. Less formal wear, more practical. Dark jacket, fitted but functional. No visible weapons, which meant nothing. The gold tracery on his cheek caught the overhead lights.
He smiled. “Curator. We really need to stop meeting in places that might explode.”
“This tunnel’s been stable for years.” I stayed put, letting him close the distance. “What are you doing down here?”
“Looking for you.” He stopped three feet away. “I had questions about the villa’s collection. Thought I’d ask the expert.”
“The villa has a communication system.”
“I tried. Your comm was turned off.”
True. Always off in the tunnels. Tarsus monitored every call, every message. Down here, I had limited time before he started asking questions.
“There must have been a communications failure. I was conducting inventory,” I said.
“In the maintenance tunnels.”
“Some artifacts require environmental monitoring. Climate control systems run through here. I was checking humidity levels.” The lie came easily. Six years of practice. “Did you need something specific, Mr. Korven?”
“Information.” He glanced past me, down the passage. “And possibly a drink. Somewhere we can talk that isn’t...” He gestured to the pipes overhead. “This.”
“The villa has lounges.”
“Where Senator Tarsus monitors every word.” He met my eyes. “I’d prefer somewhere more private.”
Flinx sent.
If he knew, he’d already talked to someone. If he was guessing, refusing would confirm something worth hiding. Either way, saying no looked worse.
“Follow me,” I said.
The west passage connected to smaller tunnels, most abandoned when newer construction replaced the original layout.
The speakeasy occupied one of those dead spaces.
A converted storage room where staff had installed salvaged furniture, a makeshift bar, and enough sound dampening to keep management from noticing.
I stopped at the entrance. Reinforced door, security panel repurposed from a cargo bay. This week’s password was “sunshine.” Someone’s idea of irony, fifty feet underground.
I keyed it in and pulled the door open.
The speakeasy was quieter than usual. Three Nazoks occupied a corner table, mid-game. A Poraki bartender worked behind the counter, cleaning glasses. Two Merrith sat in back, speaking their native language. Everyone looked up when I entered.
Then they saw Brevan.
The Nazoks froze mid-roll. The Poraki’s skin went pale. The Merrith stopped talking.
Brevan raised both hands, palms out. “Evening. I’m with her.” He nodded toward me. “She’s vouching for me. Right?”
Every eye turned to me.
I could walk out. Let him explain to Tarsus why he’d followed the pet curator into staff areas and gotten a door slammed in his face.
But walking out meant losing control. And control was the only thing I had.
“He’s fine,” I said. “He won’t cause problems.”
The room didn’t relax, but the Nazoks returned to their game. The Poraki resumed his work. The Merrith went back to their conversation, voices lower now.
Brevan approached the bar. “What do people drink down here?”
“Whatever they can afford.” I followed, Flinx still on my shoulder. “Usually recycled ethanol and synthetic flavoring.”
“Sounds delightful.” He caught the bartender’s attention. “Two of whatever she’s having. And a round for everyone here.”
The Poraki blinked. “A round?”
“For everyone.” Brevan set a credit chip on the bar. “Whatever they want. My compliment to the excellent work keeping this place running.”
The bartender scanned the chip. His skin shifted from pale to mottled blue-green. “That’s generous.”
“I appreciate good work.” Brevan glanced around the room. “And privacy. Which I imagine is valuable down here.”
“Very valuable.” The Poraki poured two drinks. Clear liquid in battered glasses. He slid them across. “You want privacy, you got it. But you cause trouble, I don’t care what you paid. You’re gone.”
“Understood.” Brevan picked up his glass. “To privacy.”
I took my drink but didn’t toast. “What do you actually want?”
“Direct. I like that.” He sipped and managed not to grimace. Impressive. Recycled ethanol tasted like industrial solvent. “I want to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“The kind that benefits both of us.” He set his glass down. “You’re planning something. Don’t insult me by denying it. I’ve been in enough places like this to recognize when someone’s building an exit strategy.”
Flinx sent.
“You’re making assumptions,” I said.
“I’m making observations.” He leaned against the bar. “You know this villa too well. The blind spots. The patrol routes. The maintenance access points most curators would never need to know.”
“That’s my job. Security cleared me for—”
“And you have a supplier.” He glanced toward where I’d come from. “Someone who gets you components that aren’t on any official inventory list.”
My hand tightened on my glass. “Careful.”
“I’m being careful. I’m also being honest.” He met my eyes. “I need access to something Tarsus has. Something I can’t get to on my own. And I think you might be able to help me.”
“Why would I help you?”
“Because I can offer you something you need. Transportation off this planet.”
The words hung in the air. Simple. Direct. The one thing my plan was missing.
Flinx sent.
“What makes you think I need transportation?” I asked.
“Because every component you just acquired from your supplier? Power source, data spoofer, comm relay? Those are escape kit pieces. You’re building something.
But unless you’re planning to steal a shuttle from the spaceport, you don’t have a way off Valyria.
” He pulled something from his jacket. A small device that looked like a standard civilian comm relay.
He set it on the bar between us. “I have a ship. In orbit. This is a direct line to my pilot. Not monitored. Not recorded.”
I stared at the comm. “What do you want in exchange?”
“I need access to Tarsus’s private office. Specifically, a sculpture he keeps there. Obsidian. Thal’reth. Female figure, forty centimeters.”
My drink stopped halfway to my mouth. “That piece isn’t for sale.”
“I know.”
“It’s not even on display. He keeps it in his vault.”
“Not all the time.” Brevan watched my face. “It's brought to his office for special occasions. Shows it to his most exclusive ‘friends’.”
I picked up my drink again. “You want me to get you past his security.”
“I want you to look the other way while I retrieve something that belongs to me.”
He’d done his research. Someone had. Either way, he knew too much.
“Even if that’s possible,” I said, “why would I risk my contract for you?”
“Because your contract is the problem.” His tone shifted, less charm and more honesty. “You’re not planning to renegotiate it or wait it out. You’re planning to break it. Which means you need to disappear completely. New identity, new planet, somewhere Tarsus’s reach doesn’t extend.”
“And you can provide that.”
“I can provide transport to somewhere his influence ends. What you do after that is your business.” He pushed the comm toward me. “Help me get what I need, I’ll make sure you’re on my ship when it leaves. No collar. No contract. No senator who thinks he owns you.”
Flinx sent.
Probably. But calculated didn’t mean untrue.
“I have conditions,” I said.
“Name them.”
“Flinx comes with me.”
“Obviously.”
“No staff casualties. Whatever you’re planning, it doesn’t involve killing people who work here.”
“I’m not here to kill anyone. I’m here to retrieve my property.”
I turned the comm over in my hands. It looked like a standard model. Civilian-grade components. But the weight was wrong. Heavier. Military hardware disguised as something harmless.
“What’s inside the sculpture?” I asked. “What’s so important you’re offering ship passage to a stranger?”
He studied me. Weighing something. Truth, or a comfortable lie.
“There’s something embedded in it,” he said finally. “Something that was stolen from people I care about. I’m taking it back.”
Not the whole truth. But close enough to feel genuine.
“Four days,” I said. “If Tarsus moves the sculpture, it will be right before the event opens. You’ll have a ten-minute window while he’s greeting guests.”
“That’s tight.”
“That’s reality.” I finished my drink. The ethanol burned. “I can get you close to the office. You handle the security and the vault yourself. Can you do that?”
“I can handle it.”
“Then we have a deal.” I stood. Flinx shifted on my shoulder. “But if you get caught, I don’t know you. Clear?”
“Crystal.” He smiled. “See you in four days, Curator.”
I pocketed the comm and left before he could say anything else. Before I could second-guess. Before common sense reminded me that trusting a Vinduthi con artist was dangerous.
Flinx sent as we climbed back toward the main levels.
“We have the components. We have the routes. We have the timing.” I kept my voice low. “We didn’t have a ship. Now we do.”
“I know. But we’ve been planning this for years. Building everything we need piece by piece. The only thing we were missing was the way off Valyria.” I adjusted my grip on the ladder. “He’s offering the final piece. That makes the plan actually possible.”
“Then we improvise. Same as always.”
We reached the upper levels. Staff corridors. Bright lights and monitored spaces. I turned my comm back on and walked toward my quarters like nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
Four days until the gala.
Four days until I either escaped Valyria or destroyed everything I’d spent years building.
Flinx sent.
“Everything worth doing is high risk.” I keyed open my door. “We’ve been careful for six years. Time to stop being careful.”
Time to be free.