“Her sky-tier suite,” Mati echoed. He stared at the tear on the dough, a tiny, dark stain on the pristine surface, then met Stasya’s gaze. “She guards it fiercely. It’s her private vault, stacked with stolen research.”
Olek, who had been listening from the cafe’s main area, strode back into the kitchen, his face grim. “A private sanctuary that’s now under city-wide alert for *us*.” He gestured to his wrist, where the deactivated company insignia usually sat. “My access is a joke now, but I still know the building’s schematics. Klavdiya’s throwing her annual ‘Ascension Gala’ tonight. High-level cartel sycophants, politicians… and the *Velesova kvitka* in her private conservatory.”
“A party,” Mati mused, his mind already racing through possibilities. “Distraction. Chaos. Cover.” He glanced at Stasya, then at Olek. “And a target-rich environment for a diversion.”
Their plan solidified under the hum of the cafe’s old refrigeration unit. Olek, using his revoked corporate credentials and a pre-programmed comm-jammer Mati had salvaged from a downed drone, would trigger a series of cascading system failures across the lower levels of Klavdiya’s high-rise. Not enough to cause panic, but enough to draw watchmen away from the roof tiers, creating a temporary gap.
“As for us,” Mati said, turning to Stasya, a small, predatory smile touching his lips. “We’re catering.” He indicated the cooling bread dough. “Tonight, we serve the devil her dinner.”
Hours later, Mati, disguised in a crisp white chef’s jacket, his combat medic’s pack tucked discreetly into a reinforced insulated cooler, surveyed the vast, glittering ballroom on the highest deck. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto polished obsidian floors, reflecting the faces of Korya-Grad’s elite. Stasya, surprisingly elegant in a borrowed server’s uniform, her hair pulled back tightly, moved with an almost ethereal grace, offering platters of delicate pastries Mati had whipped up. Her tremors were barely perceptible, controlled by sheer force of will.
Olek’s diversion hit precisely on schedule. A low thrum vibrated through the floor, followed by a momentary flicker of the lights. The murmurs of the guests swelled, then subsided as the power stabilized. Mati caught a fleeting glimpse of the patrol chief barking into his wrist-comm, ushering a squad of enforcers towards the nearest service elevator. The path was clearer now.
Mati moved through the periphery, his eyes scanning for Klavdiya Rurik. He spotted her near a panoramic window, a crimson gown a stark contrast to the city lights sprawling below. Her face was a mask of calculated charm, but her eyes, when she turned to address a fawning bureaucrat, held a chilling, distant coldness. He felt a prickle of unease. This was the woman who broke Stasya, who poisoned the city. His hand instinctively brushed against the concealed scalpel in his jacket pocket.
As Mati maneuvered closer, offering canapés to a group of laughing executives, he saw Stasya approaching Klavdiya with a tray of sparkling wine. Their paths intersected. Mati paused, observing. Klavdiya’s smile faltered, her gaze sharpening as it locked onto Stasya’s face. It wasn't recognition of the uniform, but of the woman beneath it. A flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by a predatory glint, crossed Klavdiya's features. The chilling contempt in her eyes was a physical blow, even from across the room.
Klavdiya extended a perfectly manicured hand, taking a glass from Stasya’s tray with exaggerated slowness. Her voice, though low, carried through the sudden lull in conversation around them, sharp as a honed blade. “Well, well, if it isn’t my wayward daughter. I heard you’d fallen on hard times, but this… this is a new low, even for you.” A saccharine smile stretched her lips, but her eyes glittered with malice. “Serving drinks. So much for the legendary hands. They always did seem more suited for menial tasks than for the delicate work of a true innovator, didn’t they?”
Several guests shifted uncomfortably, recognizing the infamous Dr. Volos. Stasya set her teeth. Heat flared across Mati's ribs. He moved a step closer, ready to intervene, but Stasya held herself rigid, her spine straight. She didn’t look at Mati, but she felt his presence, a solid warmth at her back. A subtle shift in her posture, a quiet reclaiming of her space.
“The legendary hands,” Stasya replied, her voice remarkably even, “were always more adept at identifying flaws than adhering to pre-approved blueprints.” She gestured, not at Klavdiya, but towards a newly installed biometric scanner near the main elevator bank. “Like your new security system, Mother. Impressive, for show. But you’ve positioned the primary relay conduit directly above the emergency ventilation shaft. A single, well-placed thermal pulse, easily generated by a standard maintenance drone, would short it out entirely. Leaving a perfectly clear, unmonitored egress point from the south wing.”
Klavdiya’s face, which had been a picture of smug disdain, froze. Her eyes narrowed, darting towards the security panel, then back to Stasya. The quiet hum of conversation around them died completely. The patrol chief, who had just returned, turned sharply, color draining from his neck. Stasya had just exposed a critical failure in the estate's cutting-edge defenses with clinical precision. Klavdiya’s humiliation was immediate and absolute. The forced smiles of her guests turned into thinly veiled smirks.
Taking advantage of the stunned silence, Stasya turned on her heel and glided away, Mati following closely. They slipped into a discreet service corridor, making their way towards the conservatory. The door, a reinforced plasteel affair, hissed open with a soft sigh. Inside, humid air, thick with the scent of damp earth and exotic blossoms, enveloped them. Rows of rare flora thrived under spectrum-tuned lamps, a verdant, living vault. In the center, under a focused beam, stood the *Velesova kvitka*. Its petals, a deep, bruised violet, pulsed with an unnerving, almost bioluminescent glow.
Mati set down his cooler, pulling out a sterile kit. “Which part?”
“The stamen. Only the stamen holds the concentrated enzymes,” Stasya said, her voice hushed, her focus absolute. She reached for a pair of delicate, titanium tweezers. Her hands, despite the earlier confrontation, were steady now, moving with a familiar, precise grace. She carefully extracted the slender, glowing filament, placing it into a small, hermetically sealed vial Mati held ready.
“Got it,” Mati confirmed, securing the vial. They had what they came for. The cure was within reach.
As they moved back through the service corridor, Mati heard the distant thud of heavy boots. The diversion was failing, or Klavdiya had redeployed her forces. They emerged into a less trafficked hallway, aiming for the south wing’s emergency exit. The escape route Stasya had subtly highlighted.
A figure stepped out from behind a large decorative pillar, blocking their path. It was Klavdiya’s personal enforcer, a hulking man who wore an executive crest on his lapel. He held a suppressed carbine, its barrel pointed directly at Stasya. “Dr. Volos. My apologies, but your mother requests your immediate attendance.”
Mati didn’t hesitate. He shoved Stasya hard, pushing her towards the emergency exit panel. “Go!” he yelled, drawing the compact, modified plasma pistol he’d kept concealed since the cafe defense. But Vorlag was faster. A muffled crack echoed in the corridor. A searing pain blossomed in Mati’s side, spinning him around.