“Are you ready to rob him, Tazien?” The question hung in the stale air, thick with the scent of ember-smoke and the metallic tang of Varek’s tinkering. My first life’s goal had been simple: survive my secret death sentence, make sure Varek was financially secure, then dissolve quietly into temporal dust. But the furious desperation in his eyes, the way he’d gripped my arm as if I were a lifeline, had irrevocably shattered that plan. My soul might still be on a countdown, but now it was a countdown to a fight, not a surrender. “Ready?” I scoffed, a wry twist to my lips. “My darling Varek, I’ve been preparing to dismantle that worm Jolvan Cright brick by meticulously polished brick for months. This is merely a particularly satisfying demolition charge.” He watched me, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “It’s not just about Jolvan anymore. It’s about *us*.” “Oh, I know.” My voice, even to my own ears, had lost its usual sharp edge, replaced by a softer, almost reverent tone. “And I’m not letting you go to that high-district manor alone.” The next two days were a blur of frenzied, hushed planning. Rolo, bless his perpetually jittery soul, proved an unexpected asset. His gossip network, usually reserved for the choicest market scandals, transformed into an intelligence web. He knew which scullery maid had a gambling problem and could be persuaded to leave a gate ajar. He knew the shifts of the guards, the usual routes of the Cright family’s steam-coaches, even the preferred brand of pipe-weed smoked by Jolvan’s personal valet, making him prone to midnight snacks and subsequent naps. “The manor’s hosting a ‘Winter’s Masque’ gala tomorrow night,” Rolo reported, his voice dropping to a frantic murmur, despite us being alone in Varek’s now-tidy parlor. “Everyone who’s anyone in the high-districts will be there. Perfect cover, Miss Tazien! Black masks, powdered wigs… nobody will recognize a soul.” He wrung his hands, a cabbage leaf still clinging precariously to his jacket. “Except… what if someone *does*? What if Jolvan sees you? He’s been asking about you, you know. Not in a nice way.” “Let him,” I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. “It’ll make the surprise all the sweeter.” Varek, meanwhile, had been meticulously mapping the manor’s internal schematics, procured by Rolo from a surprisingly detailed laundry schedule. He’d adapted a set of brass calipers, usually used for fine mechanical adjustments, into a miniature signal disruptor. “The vault’s security system,” he explained, tracing a line on the schematic, “is an older model, a sonic-field array. My disruptor should give us a five-minute window, maybe six, before it resets. The core itself is housed in a temporal stasis chamber, keyed to Jolvan’s biometrics. I’ll need direct access to the console to override it.” “And your chair?” I asked, gesturing to his sturdy, wheeled contraption. “A masquerade isn’t exactly built for ease of movement.” He met my gaze, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Then we make it work. I’ll be your silent partner, moving through the shadows, while you distract the viper.” “Oh, I intend to distract him,” I murmured, a chill entering my voice. “I intend to give him a night he’ll never forget.” The night of the gala was a whirlwind of artificial gaiety. The Cright manor, usually a bastion of austere wealth, was transformed into a glittering spectacle. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto a sea of masked faces, their laughter echoing through the grand hall. The air hummed with hushed conversations and the clink of crystal glasses. Rolo, dressed in a borrowed, ill-fitting servant’s uniform, melted into the background, a shadow among shadows, ready to guide Varek through the maze of corridors towards a discreet side entrance. I, on the other hand, was meant to shine. My dress, a shimmering gown of midnight blue that I’d traded for some carefully hoarded pre-collapse silver, clung to me, a striking contrast to the muted tones of my everyday life. A simple, elegant black mask concealed my eyes, leaving only my lips, painted a dark crimson, to convey my intent. I felt like a predator in a flock of preening birds. It didn’t take long to find him. Jolvan, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, a silver-threaded mask covering the upper half of his face, held court near the grand staircase. He was surrounded by a gaggle of fawning sycophants, his laugh booming, entirely oblivious to the fate I had meticulously woven for him. I drifted towards him, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. “Jolvan, darling,” I purred, laying a gloved hand on his sleeve. His head snapped toward me, his brow furrowing beneath the mask until recognition locked into place. A flicker of triumph, then cold fury, crossed his features. “Tazien? What in the blazes are you doing here?” he hissed, pulling me aside, his voice dropping to a furious undertone. “You dare show your face in my home after what you’ve done?” “What I’ve done?” I feigned innocence, my crimson lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Why, I merely decided to bless your little gathering with my presence. Unless, of course, you’re worried I might reveal the dwindling state of your finances? Or perhaps the sudden and rather embarrassing collapse of your ember-coal contracts?” His face blanched. He gripped my arm, his knuckles white. “You manipulative wretch! You’re behind all of this, aren’t you?” “And who else would be?” I laughed, a low, throaty sound that drew a few curious glances. “I heard your latest investment, the Orellen Shipping Concern, is about to go belly-up. Such a pity. All those guilders, sinking into the harbor mud just like your reputation.” I leaned closer, pitching my voice low, a venomous smile fixed on my lips. “And your little affair with the Minister’s wife? Her husband just found out about the jewel box you gifted her. Expect a visit from the divorce lawyers, darling. And a very public, very humiliating scandal. It’ll ruin you.” Jolvan’s face went from pale to a mottled purple. His grip on my arm tightened painfully, but I merely met his gaze, my eyes glittering with undisguised malice. He stood frozen, his polished composure shattering beneath the precision of my predictions. The rumors I’d had Rolo plant were blossoming, and the truth of his future failures was like a poison seeping into his present. Just then, Rolo, a vision of nervous energy, appeared at the edge of the ballroom, catching my eye with a frantic head-nod. Varek was in position. My part of the distraction was complete. I gave Jolvan a final, saccharine smile. “Do try to enjoy the rest of your party, dear. It’ll be the last time you feel this secure for a very long time.” With that, I spun on my heel, leaving him sputtering in my wake, his face a mask of utter bewilderment and simmering fury. I made my way through the throngs, eventually finding a discreet service entrance that Rolo had indicated. Varek was there, his wheelchair positioned before a massive, brass-bound vault door, its surface gleaming under the dim light of a single emergency lantern. His modified calipers were already whirring, their small, focused beam scanning the intricate locks. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration, a sheen of sweat on his skin. Rolo hovered nearby, clutching a rusty wrench, looking as though he might spontaneously combust from anxiety. “Status?” I asked softly, slipping into the alcove beside them. Varek didn't look up. “The sonic array is down. I’m bypassing the retinal scanner now. It’s tight.” The seconds stretched, each one feeling like an hour. The whirring of the calipers was the only sound, a tense counterpoint to the distant, muffled music from the gala. Then, a soft click. The heavy, brass-bound door hissed, retracting slowly into the wall, revealing a circular antechamber. Inside, at the center, was a pedestal, and on it, humming with a faint, otherworldly glow, was a central, shimmering orb—the chronometric core. Varek wasted no time. He rolled forward, his hands already reaching for a small panel beside the pedestal. He began to manipulate a series of tiny levers and dials, his fingers moving with a surgeon’s precision. Just as he was about to make the final adjustment, a faint *click* echoed from beneath his wheelchair. A hidden pressure plate. The floor dropped half an inch, tripping a mechanical relay. A deafening brass klaxon sounded, sirens piercing the stone walls and setting the iron floorplates vibrating beneath our boots. Red warning lights flashed, bathing the chamber in an ominous, pulsing glow. “Wardens!” Rolo shrieked, dropping his wrench with a clang. “They’ll be here in minutes!” Varek, his face grim, ignored the cacophony. His hands were a blur, yanking at the arcane mechanisms. The glowing orb on the pedestal pulsed brighter, its hum intensifying. With a final, desperate tug, he wrenched the chronometric core free. Just as he did, a low groan emanated from the vault door. It began to slide shut, the heavy brass slowly, inexorably sealing us inside. A moment later, a figure stepped out of the shadows, a steam-pistol raised, its barrel glinting in the flashing red light. Jolvan.

The Cright Vault Heist