The cracked panel illuminated Tirso’s hollow cheekbones in pale green. Less than an hour. Brine and wet rust drifted through the open container doors. The ruling body had discarded their own calendar; they intended to strip her holding before midnight. “The Grand Quarter,” Sefira said, setting her weight evenly over both heels. “Which hall?” Tirso tapped the shattered glass. “The Aurum Vault. Closed session. No public records, no external broadcast lines.” “Perfect,” Jago murmured, his voice a low rumble beside Sefira. His arm, which had been loosely draped around her shoulder, tightened. His coat hung in shreds, dark crimson soaking through wool at his shoulder, yet his gaze stayed fixed and narrow. “No audience to soften the crash.” “We need a vehicle,” Sefira said, already moving towards the container’s entrance, the rain still lashing outside. “And a plan. We can’t just walk in.” “Walk?” Jago’s mouth curved without warmth. “We break the doors. And we carry the Verrus transaction log. Unlocked, Tirso?” Tirso nodded, gripping the casing. “That buys our seat.” Jago took a flatbed utility truck from the commercial dock, forcing the gearshift until the transmission screeched. Sefira sat braced against the cab's interior panel while water seeped through her collar and Jago's blood dried against her sleeve. The truck slammed sideways against the perimeter wall near the east gate, tires smoking in the deluge as Tirso keyed an administrative override. Above them, limestone porticos rose into the dark, surrounded by the green sweeps of surveillance quadcopters cutting through sheets of rain. “Aurum Vault,” Tirso muttered, checking the display. “Sub-level three. Reinforced bulkheads, vascular scanners. But the intake shaft overhead predates the remodel.” Sefira, Jago, and Tirso slipped through the service corridors, a maze of polished chrome and hushed ventilation hums. Their footsteps echoed unnervingly in the sterile environment. The scent of ozone from Jago’s duel still clung to him, mingling with the shipyard's brine and the fresh metallic tang of his own blood. Sefira’s split knuckles stung against the cold air. They found the access panel Tirso had identified, a rusted hatch camouflaged in a maintenance crawlspace. Jago sheared the latch with an iron bar from the truck bed. He slipped first into the zinc-lined shaft, Tirso trailing, Sefira pressing in behind them against rivets and oxidized copper. Below the grating, speakers crackled with formal legal citations. “They’re in session,” Tirso mouthed, his eyes wide. “I can feel the sub-harmonic resonance from the audio dampeners.” Jago kicked the intake grill through. Screws sheared with a snap, dropping iron and plaster dust across the mahogany table below. Sefira lowered herself through the gap, hitting the stone floor in a crouch beside Jago, who stood with his bleeding shoulder exposed and hands free. Tirso landed hard behind them, tucking the screen to his ribs. Chairs scraped back against marble. Delegates in dark wool and silk stood frozen, staring at two blood-spattered figures and a trembling junior aide standing in the middle of their vote. Lord Aric Caligo stood from the central bench, adjusting his signet ring. “Sefira Caldos. Your family holdings are being liquidated by unanimous motion. You hold no standing in this room.” Sefira stepped forward, leaving wet treadmarks on the wool runner, and drove the handheld unit down across the wood so hard the casing cracked anew. It skidded to a halt beside Caligo's gavel. “Read line forty-four, Lord Caligo.” She reached across, tapping the screen where Tirso's script highlighted transfer routes. “The Verrus household accounts. For three years, their family branch siphoned capital out of your mutual trust accounts. From your offshore bonds, Lord Karys. From your regional reserve, Lady Mirela.” Shouts broke out across the gallery. Karys reached across the wood to drag the unit toward himself, while younger heirs backed away toward the exits. Lord Aric picked up the small screen, wiped mud from its casing with his cuff, and let out a faint laugh. “My dear Sefira,” Caligo said, setting the glass face-down. “Did you really think the junior branch managed those transfers without my authorization?” Jago took half a pace forward, placing his good shoulder between Caligo and Sefira's flank. Caligo did not look at the rest of the bench; his focus remained on Sefira. “I required a public scandal to seize the regional trusts. Your brother was simply the first wedge, and your return provided the excuse to convene tonight.” He depressed a toggle under the edge of the dais. Pneumatic pistons fired behind the wainscoting; titanium security shutters dropped across the high windows, cutting off the sound of the rain. The vault doors engaged with a dull hydraulic slam, leaving the emergency lanterns burning amber. “Lockdown confirmed,” Caligo said, resting both palms on the mahogany. “For unauthorized trespass, and the immediate impoundment of hostile assets.”

The Arsonist's Gambit