Carys
Renna was late.
I waited in the junction, checking my slate for the third time. Seven minutes past our scheduled meeting. Uncharacteristic. The Merrith ran her operation on precision timing, the kind that came from years of surviving in spaces between official notice and criminal consequence.
Flinx sent from his perch on a pipe overhead. His sensors tracked the tunnels in both directions.
“Or she’s being cautious.” I pocketed my slate and checked the components I’d brought for trade. Environmental access codes, updated through this morning. Medical supply manifests from the villa’s inventory system. Information Renna could monetize through her network.
Footsteps echoed from the east passage. Light, quick, the distinctive rhythm of Merrith movement. Renna appeared around the corner, her six-fingered hands clutching a wrapped bundle against her chest.
“Curator.” She moved past me to the hub without stopping. “We need to be fast.”
“What happened?”
“Management increased tunnel patrols. New security protocols as of this morning.” She set the bundle on her makeshift workbench and started unwrapping it. “They’re looking for something. Or someone.”
A knot tightened in my stomach. “Did they say what?”
“No. But the timing feels pointed.” She pulled back the wrapping, revealing two items. The power source I’d requested. The data spoofer.
“You finished them,” I said.
“Yesterday. Tested them three times.” Renna’s ears twitched. Nervous energy. “The power source is fully charged. The spoofer has six uses before the encryption degrades. After that, it’s scrap.”
This time I paid in credits instead of information. Renna needed liquid assets for whatever she was planning, and I needed her not to remember the details. Double what we’d negotiated. “For the rush job.”
Her eyes widened. Merrith didn’t show surprise often, but credits talked. “That’s generous.”
“That’s insurance.” I gathered the components, tucking them into the reinforced pockets of my jacket. “If management asks about our meetings, you don’t remember specifics. Time frame. Frequency. What I purchased.”
“I never remember specifics.” She collected her payment chip. “But Curator? Whatever you’re planning for tonight, be careful. Security isn’t just tighter. It’s paranoid.”
“Noted.” I signaled to Flinx. Time to move.
he observed as we left the junction.
“She should be. So should we.”
“We’re still doing this.”
The walk back to my quarters took twelve minutes through service corridors I could navigate blind. My rooms weren’t large. Staff housing on Valyria prioritized function over comfort. But they were mine in a way nothing else on this planet was.
I secured the door and spread the components on my work table. Power source. Spoofer. Everything I needed for another distraction, assuming the plan worked.
Assuming Brevan kept his word.
Assuming Tarsus didn’t catch us.
Too many assumptions. But two years of planning came down to this. One night. One chance. One shot at freedom that depended on trusting the Vinduthi con artist who’d had his hands on me in a maintenance shaft yesterday and said I was real.
Flinx said.
“I’m thinking about the plan.”
“That’s not helpful.”
He jumped onto the table and sat directly in front of the components, blocking my view.
“I’m not distracted. I’m prepared.” I moved him aside and started checking the power source’s charge capacity. Perfect. Renna had outdone herself.
My comm chimed. Official channel. Tarsus’s personal code.
Flinx suggested.
“I have to answer it.” I accepted the call. “Yes, sir?”
“My office. Now.” He ended the connection before I could respond.
“Shut up.” I changed into clean clothes and headed for the villa’s main wing.
Tarsus stood near the window, holding something draped over his arm. Silver fabric that caught the light. He turned when I entered.
“Curator.” He gestured to a chair. “Sit.”
I sat. Waited. Let him control the opening.
“Tonight’s gala is important,” he said. “I’m showcasing several new acquisitions. Mr. Korven will be attending as my personal guest. Senator Valerius will also be present, along with forty-three other influential buyers and collectors.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I need you to make an impression.” He moved closer, holding up the silver fabric. A dress. Backless. Low-cut neckline. The kind of garment designed to display rather than cover. “You’ll wear this tonight.”
I looked at the dress without touching it. Expensive material. Custom tailoring. And completely inappropriate for my position as staff curator.
“Sir, I usually wear professional attire to these events.”
“Usually, yes.” His expression didn’t change. “Tonight is different. Tonight, you’re not just my curator. You’re part of my collection.”
The words landed exactly as he intended. Ownership. Display. A reminder that my contract gave him control over more than just my professional services.
“I see,” I said carefully.
“Do you?” He laid the dress across the desk between us. “Senator Valerius has been questioning the value of human acquisitions. He believes your species is overvalued in the current market. I intend to prove him wrong.”
“By having me wear this dress.”
“By having you demonstrate your expertise while looking like the valuable asset you are.” His tone stayed level. “It’s important to show off my collection in all the best lights.”
I tensed. I kept my expression neutral. “And the collar?”
“Will be visible, of course.” He smiled. “The dress is designed to frame it. A beautiful combination of aesthetics and function.”
The collar at my throat felt heavier.
“When should I arrive?” I asked.
“Early evening. I want you in position before the main guests arrive.” He tapped the data slate on his desk, his attention already elsewhere.
“You’ll circulate during the first hour.
Answer questions about the new acquisitions.
Be charming, knowledgeable, and available.
Make them understand why having a human expert adds value to my collection. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He dismissed me without looking up. “Take the dress. Don’t damage it. It cost more than your quarterly meal allowance.”
I collected the dress and left.
The fabric felt wrong in my hands. Too smooth. Too expensive. Too explicitly designed to put me on display like one of Tarsus’s artifacts.
Flinx sent as we walked back to my quarters.
“Get in line.”
“We’re leaving tonight.” I sealed my door and hung the dress where I wouldn’t have to look at it. “Assuming everything goes according to plan.”
“This one will.”
A knock interrupted the argument. Three sharp raps. Brevan’s pattern from the tunnels.
I opened the door.
He stood in the corridor, dressed casually but expensively. The kind of outfit that suggested wealth without trying. His gold tracery caught the hallway lighting.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“About?”
“Tools.” He glanced past me into my quarters. “May I come in?”
I stepped aside. He entered, moving immediately to check the door’s security before turning to face me.
Flinx hissed from the table.
“Nice to see you too,” Brevan told him. He pulled a small case from his jacket. “I brought you some items for tonight.”
“What kind of items?”
He opened the case. Inside, three pieces of jewelry. Earrings, a bracelet, and a necklace. All elegant. All expensive-looking. All completely functional if you knew what to look for.
“The earrings are audio disruptors,” he said. “Thirty-second bursts, three uses each. The bracelet has a slicer spike hidden in the clasp. And the necklace is a short-range comm link. Direct to Kallum, encrypted.”
I picked up the earrings. The design was beautiful, small crystals set in platinum. The disruption tech was invisible unless you knew where to look. “These are good work.”
“Varrick’s specialty.” He set the case on my table. “The bracelet’s spike is single-use, but untraceable.”
“And the necklace?”
“Insurance.” He picked it up, the chain pooling in his palm. “If something goes wrong, if we get separated, you can reach Kallum directly. He’ll extract you regardless of whether I make it out.”
I stared at him. “You’re giving me an exit that doesn’t include you.”
“I’m giving you options.” He moved closer. “The plan works best if we stick together. But if it doesn’t, I want you to have a way out.”
Flinx warned.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because you’re not my asset. You’re my partner.” He held up the necklace. “May I?”
I should have said no. Instead I turned around and lifted my hair.
He moved behind me. The necklace settled against my collarbones, cool metal on warm skin. His fingers brushed my neck as he worked the clasp. Not the collar. Just below it. The touch was professional, quick, exactly what the task required.
Except he didn’t pull away immediately.
His fingers lingered at the nape of my neck. Just for a second. Just long enough that I felt it.
“There,” he said quietly. “It suits you better than that other one.”
The collar. He meant the collar.
I turned around. He stood close enough that I could see the gold tracery patterns on his throat, the way his red eyes tracked my face, the tension in his jaw that suggested control taking effort.
“Tonight,” I said. “After this is done. After we’re off Valyria. We need to talk about what happened in that maintenance shaft.”
“I know.”
“Because I’m not interested in being someone’s conquest.”
“I know that too.” He stepped back, creating professional distance again. “You’re not a conquest, Carys. You’re a complication I didn’t plan for and can’t seem to avoid.”
“Is that supposed to be flattering?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.” He moved toward the door. “Early evening. Ballroom level. Stay close to the sculpture. When Tarsus moves it to his office, I’ll be ready.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“Then use the necklace. Get out. Don’t wait for me.” He paused at the threshold. “And Carys? That dress Tarsus is making you wear? Ignore everything he said about it. You’re not part of his collection. You never were.”
He left before I could respond.
He’d heard what Tarsus said. Bugs. Of course. Brevan was playing his own game. Who knew how long he’d had bugs planted around Tarsus.
But I couldn’t think about that now.
I stood in my quarters, wearing three pieces of jewelry that were weapons, holding components for a heist that would either free me or destroy me, and trying very hard not to think about the Vinduthi who kept saving my life while claiming he was only interested in his sculpture.
Flinx observed.
“He likes complications.”
“It’s not the same thing.” I checked the time. Four hours until the gala. Four hours until everything changed.
I looked at the silver dress hanging on my door. Tarsus’s display piece. His proof of ownership. His reminder that my value came from what I could do for his reputation.
But when I touched the necklace Brevan had given me, the metal was warm from his fingers.
I had two very different men telling me what I was worth.
And one of them was wrong.