Brevan
The service corridors were darker than I expected, but Carys moved through them like she’d been born in these tunnels, her footsteps silent on the metal grating, despite her weak human vision.
We’d arranged this meeting through the encrypted comms after I’d left Tarsus’s office that morning. One last walkthrough before the gala. Timing had to be perfect.
“If anything goes bad, this is your route back out of the villa,” she said quietly.
“And the security patrols?”
“Krelaxian guard passes through here every twenty minutes. Mondian backup every forty-five.” She stopped at a junction and pointed left. “Camera coverage ends at that panel. Blind spot for approximately three meters. After that, you’re visible again until you reach the office corridor.”
I studied the route. Clean. Efficient.
“You’ve timed the patrols,” I said.
“Seventeen times over the past six months.” She moved forward, gesturing for me to follow. “The Krelaxian is predictable. Same route, same pace. The Mondian varies by two minutes depending on whether he stops to check the environmental controls.”
“Which he does how often?”
“Sixty percent of the time.”
“So we plan for him checking.”
“Obviously.” She turned a corner, her movements precise. “The office corridor has its own security. Two guards stationed outside Tarsus’s door during events. They rotate every two hours. The shift change happens during the second hour of the gala.”
“Perfect timing.”
“That’s the plan.” She stopped at another junction and checked a small slate she’d pulled from her pocket. “The patrol should be passing the eastern checkpoint in thirty seconds. We’ll wait here.”
I moved beside her, close enough to see the slate’s display. Security feeds. Camera angles. Patrol positions. She’d hacked into Tarsus’s system.
“When did you do this?” I asked.
“Months ago. Flinx got me access.” She zoomed in on one of the feeds. “There. Krelaxian guard, eastern corridor. Right on schedule.”
We watched the guard pass through the frame and disappear.
“He’ll circle back in eighteen minutes,” she said. “That gives us enough time to reach the office wing and verify the secondary route.”
“You’ve been planning this escape for a long time,” I said.
“Two years.” She turned left, then right, navigating the maze without hesitation. “Every route. Every contingency. Every possible complication. I’ve mapped all of it.”
“Why wait so long?”
“Because rushing gets you killed.” She stopped at a maintenance panel and pulled it open. “I needed resources. Contacts. The right timing. You don’t escape from someone like Tarsus by running. You escape by being better prepared than he is.”
Smart. Methodical. Exactly what I’d expected from her.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor behind us.
Heavy. Multiple sets. Not the scheduled patrol.
“Move,” Carys said immediately. She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a maintenance shaft I hadn’t noticed. “Inside. Now.”
The shaft was small. Cramped but manageable for two if they pressed close.
She pushed me in first, then squeezed in after me, pulling the access panel shut behind her.
Darkness.
Complete darkness except for the thin line of light around the panel’s edges.
The footsteps grew louder. Closer. Two guards, maybe three. Speaking Krelaxian standard. Something about a system alert in this sector.
Carys pressed against me. Necessary. Unavoidable. The shaft was too small for any distance between us. Her back against my chest. My arms around her to keep us both stable. Her breathing quiet but rapid. Adrenaline. Fear. The same response I was managing in my own system.
The guards stopped right outside the panel.
“False alarm,” one said. “Environmental sensors malfunctioning again.”
“Should we report it?”
“Not worth the paperwork. Just reset the system.”
Metal scraped against metal. They were opening a nearby panel. Checking systems. Taking their time.
Carys’s heartbeat was a heavy thud against my forearm. I could feel every beat. Every breath. The warmth of her through the thin fabric of her shirt.
My fangs ached.
Vinduthi response to close proximity. To adrenaline. To the combination of threat and attraction that made my instincts war against my control.
I focused on staying still. Staying silent. Staying professional.
Her hair brushed my jaw. Soft. Distracting. I turned my head slightly, trying to create distance that didn’t exist, and my lips grazed the side of her neck.
She went very still.
“Don’t,” she whispered. So quiet I almost didn’t hear it.
“I’m not.” Also quiet. “I’m trying not to.”
“Try harder.”
“I am.” But my hands had moved. One splayed across her stomach. One resting on her hip. Holding her steady. Holding her close.
She shifted. Minimal movement. Just adjusting her position in the cramped space. Her body pressed more firmly against mine.
My control slipped.
My hand moved from her hip to her ribs. Testing. Exploring. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t tell me to stop. Just breathed faster, her heart rate climbing.
“Brevan.” Still quiet. Warning or invitation. I couldn’t tell.
The guards outside kept talking. System diagnostics. Procedure. Bureaucratic nonsense that meant they weren’t leaving soon.
I lowered my head. My lips found the curve of her shoulder. Not biting. Just tasting. Just barely there. She made a sound. Small. Suppressed. The kind of sound that meant I should stop.
I didn’t stop.
My fangs ached harder. The urge to bite, to mark, to claim warred with everything I knew about control and timing and not ruining a partnership with terrible decisions.
Her hand came up and covered mine. The one on her ribs. She didn’t push it away. She pressed it closer.
“This is reckless,” she whispered.
“I know.” My other hand moved to her throat. Not the collar. Just below it. Feeling her pulse. Fast. Unsteady.
“We’re in a maintenance shaft.”
“I noticed.”
“With guards outside.”
“Also noticed.”
“And Flinx is watching.”
“Probably.” I moved my thumb along her jawline. She tilted her head back slightly, giving me access. Giving me permission.
A loud clang echoed through the corridor.
The guards stopped talking.
“What was that?”
“Sounded like it came from the junction.”
More footsteps. Moving away. Investigating the noise.
Flinx. Had to be Flinx. Creating a distraction. Pulling them away from us.
The tension broke. Carys stepped forward as much as the shaft allowed. Creating distance. Creating space. Her breathing was still fast, but controlled now. Professional again.
“We should move,” she said. “While they’re distracted.”
“Right.” I pulled back, giving her room to reach the panel. “Yes.”
She opened it carefully. The corridor was empty. The guards had moved toward the junction, following the sound Flinx had created. She slipped out of the shaft and I followed, both of us moving quickly, silently, away from the area.
We didn’t speak until we were back in the safer section of the tunnels. Away from patrols. Away from cameras. Away from the immediate threat.
Flinx appeared from a side corridor, his optics back to full brightness. He jumped onto Carys’s shoulder and made a sound that could have been smug satisfaction.
“Thank you,” Carys told him.
Her eyes glazed, just a little, the way they always did when she and the construct spoke.
“He says we’re idiots,” she translated.
“He’s probably right.” I straightened my jacket. “That was too close.”
“The patrol or what happened in the shaft?”
“Both.”
She looked at me. Her expression was unreadable in the dim lighting. “Listen. We keep this professional.”
“Agreed.”
“No distractions. No complications.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” She turned toward the exit ladder. “Because I’m not interested in being another one of your cons.”
“You’re not a mark.” The words came out before I could think them through. “You’re the most real thing I’ve encountered in years.”
She stopped at the ladder. Didn’t turn around. Just stood there, processing.
“In two days,” she said finally. “Evening. Don’t be late.”
She climbed the ladder and disappeared.
I stood in the empty tunnel, my fangs still aching, my hands still remembering the shape of her, and wondered if I’d just made this heist significantly more complicated.
Probably.
Definitely.
But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.