Chapter 12
Steam curled around me as I stepped under the water.
For a moment, I simply stood there, letting the heat beat down on my shoulders and glide over aching muscles. My magic hummed low and unfocused, tired but steady—like an animal finally curled in its den after being pushed too hard for too long.
Con had left less than ten minutes ago to “check on the clan,” which I suspected meant check on me by giving me space.
A rare concession.
A needed one.
My palms pressed against the tiled wall in front of me.
The shower drowned out the leftover echoes of last night—Raven’s gasps, the crackle of poison in her blood, Con’s fear, my own stupid collapse.
The spray slid over my skin, rinsing away dried sweat, a smear of dirt from the cemetery, and the heat-sick haze that had clung to me even after cooling off.
I tilted my head back, letting the water run through my hair.
For the first time since Raven’s wound, my body didn’t feel like a furnace. Power swirled inside me now at a simmer instead of a boil. Still too bright, still too restless, but livable.
I scrubbed clean, methodical, letting my mind slowly reassemble itself the way I always did after a fight.
Breath.
Balance.
Blades sharp, focus sharper.
By the time I turned off the shower, my thoughts felt clearer—still crowded, still bruised, but mine again.
I wrapped myself in a towel and stepped out into my room, skin cooling in the evening air. I dried off slowly, checking my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks had regained some color. The fever flush had faded. No dark circles beyond my usual after-battle exhaustion.
“Still functional,” I muttered to myself.
I pulled on a pair of fitted black pants, reinforced with leather inserts along the sides. A soft shirt came next, breathable enough for movement. Finally, I shrugged into my leather jacket, the one with reinforced shoulders and enough hidden pockets to make a smuggler jealous.
My spear, collapsed down to its compact form, was clipped to my thigh. I tightened the strap, checked the release, and smoothed my jacket over it.
As I secured the last buckle on my belt, night settled outside. Blue twilight sank across the world through the thin space between my curtains.
Someone entered my room.
No knock. But he didn’t need one. His presence cut through the air before the door even finished opening.
Con stepped inside, eyes sweeping over me in one swift, assessing pass.
I didn’t bother scolding him for the lack of knocking. He only did it when he was worried. Or when he thought time mattered more than manners.
“You up?” he asked, though he could see the answer.
“Obviously.”
“You look better,” he said.
“You look exactly the same.”
His mouth twitched, as if he weren’t sure whether to smile or lecture me again. Instead, he got to the point.
“Manu has something,” he said. “You ready?”
“Always.”
He opened the door again and waited until I passed through, then followed close behind as we moved down the hallway. The mansion felt more alive now—voices murmuring behind doors, footsteps echoing farther down, the clatter of someone downstairs prepping for night patrols.
The tension from last night still lingered like smoke, but at least the building breathed again.
We descended the stairs and made our way to the conference room.
The door was already open. Manu stood at the head of the long table, surrounded by a cluster of screens and papers.
Julian perched at one corner, typing furiously on his laptop, eyes darting across lines of code and encrypted messages.
Both men looked up when we entered.
“You survived,” Julian said when he saw me. “I was worried.”
“I’m tougher than I look,” I replied.
Manu gave Julian a pointed look before turning to us. “Marcus’ lead checks out. The piece is moving through an elite auction channel. Very private. Very expensive. Very illegal.”
Con folded his arms. “Same network Dimitri used?”
“Same level,” Manu said. “Different players. More ruthless than Dimitri. Less theatrical.”
I stepped closer. “Was my name on the list?”
Manu tapped a finger against a stack of papers beside him. “That’s the thing. No. Not yet. The broker hasn’t released the official invite list. But there’s movement in their system.”
I exhaled through my nose. “We already made contact with Marcus’ group. They told him to wait for the next message. A text with instructions.”
“And you got nothing since then?” Manu asked.
“Nothing.”
Julian didn’t look up from his screen. “That’s because it’s automated. And slow. They screen potential buyers against internal blacklists and tag risk profiles.”
“Meaning they’re stalling?” I asked.
“Meaning they’re weighing whether your ‘identity’ checks out,” Julian said. “If Marcus tied you to Dimitri as intended, then they’ll probably let you through. But not quickly.”
“How long is ‘not quickly’?” Con asked.
“Hours. Maybe a day,” Julian said. “But I wasn’t willing to sit around and wait.”
He finally looked up, smirking. “So I hacked the list.”
Con smiled. “Of course you did.”
“What did you find?” I asked.
Julian spun the laptop around. A map glowed on the screen, marked with a blinking red point.
“Your application is pending,” he said. “But I got the location of the piece anyway.”
My pulse quickened.
“Where?” I asked.
“A holding facility in the industrial district,” Julian replied. “They’re moving it tonight before the auction. I traced the metadata from the image Marcus found—also hacked that, by the way—and cross-referenced it with shipping manifests from known black-market couriers.”
“You cross-referenced illegal shipping manifests?” Con asked.
Julian blinked. “Of course.”
Manu cleared his throat. “It gets better. The facility is run by the same group that transferred Valerian’s stolen artifacts five years ago. High-level smugglers. Very dangerous.”
“Perfect,” I said. “We love dangerous.”
“We?” Con said, one brow rising.
“Don’t start,” I warned.
Manu leaned over the table, sliding a photograph toward me. “This is the warehouse. Controlled access. Motion-activated defenses. No magical wards we can detect, but there’s something… off about the energy composition in the back quadrant.”
“Off how?” I asked.
“Like it’s being shielded,” Manu said. “Not by magic. By technology designed to mimic it.”
That was new.
I met Con’s gaze. It mirrored my own thought.
“This auction isn’t just supernatural,” I said.
Con nodded. “It’s military hybrid tech.”
Manu sighed. “Enhanced humans, hybrid tech, restricted networks… someone with serious resources is backing this auction.”
A cold chill wound through my stomach. “Valerian?”
“No,” Manu said. “This is too organized. Valerian prefers chaos. This feels like… business.”
Julian tapped another window on his screen. “I have the guard rotation. I can shut down their external alarms for five minutes. After that, someone’s going to know we’re there.”
“Five minutes is enough,” I said.
“Not for finesse,” Julian said. “But enough to get in and out if you’re quick.”
“We’re quick,” Con replied.
Julian smirked. “Are you?”
I glared at him. “I’m fine.”
Con glanced at me, but I ignored him.
Manu tapped the table. “The moment your invitation is confirmed, we do this clean. But if it’s delayed too long…”
He looked at me. Then Con. Then the map.
“…you may need to intercept the piece before the auction.”
“Steal it?” Con asked.
“Recover it,” Manu corrected.
“Same thing,” I said.
“Better than letting someone else get their hands on it,” Manu replied.
I stared at the red point glowing on the screen. So close. So vulnerable. So necessary.
The piece that could save Rene’s life.
And start a war if the wrong person bought it.
The room was quiet for a long moment.
Finally, I said, “Send us everything.”
Manu nodded and pushed a file toward me. “Already in your inbox.”
Julian cracked his knuckles. “And I’ll keep eyes on the network. If the invitation comes through while you’re on-site, I’ll alert you.”
“Good,” Con said. “Because we’re not losing this one.”
No.
We weren’t.
I looked at the map again, pulse even and cold.
My fever had faded, my mind was clear, and my body—though still tired—was ready to bleed for this if necessary.
Rene needed this piece.
Raven needed us.
And Valerian’s shadow grew longer every hour we waited.
“Tell me about security,” I said.
The map on the screen glowed between us, that red dot pulsing like a heartbeat in the bad part of town.
Con stood at my shoulder, arms folded, gaze fixed on it.
Manu and Julian were on the other side of the table, each framed by their own version of chaos—Manu’s neat stacks of files, Julian’s digital mess.
Manu tapped a spot near the warehouse icon. “Perimeter is guarded by mercenaries. Not local muscle, either. They are using the same enhancement protocols as the assassins that hit the cemetery.”
My fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “Same movement pattern, same implants?”
“From what we can see, yes,” Manu said. “They mask their heat signatures, move in low-profile formations, never travel without overlapping fields of fire. Whoever trained them is ex-military, probably top-tier.”
Julian flicked to another image. Surveillance photos, grainy but clear enough to show shadowed faces, black tactical gear, weapons slung in confident grips.
“Spot the difference?” he asked.
Con leaned in. “They are not wearing insignias.”
“Exactly,” Julian said. “No flags, no corporate logos, no clan symbols. They are ghosts with guns.”
A familiar unease settled beneath my ribs. “So the same people trying to kill us are guarding the thing we need to save Rene.”
“Feels intentional,” Con said.
“Feels expensive,” Julian added. “And whoever is paying them has deep pockets.”
I looked at Manu. “Have you picked up anything on their communications?”
“Encrypted,” he replied. “Rotating codes, clean discipline. No one is using names. They are referring to the shipment by number.”