The fish market stench clings to everything, seeping into the cramped apartment where we've holed up after the skyscraper fire. My ribs ache, my arm's raw from a drone's laser, and the weight of Dorian's note—The vault's not what you think—is a stone in my gut. Lena's at a rickety table, her tablet casting a blue glow on her auburn hair, her hazel eyes fierce as she decodes the vault's blueprint we barely escaped with. Marcus is slumped on a sagging couch, his shoulder bandaged, his breathing shallow, the tracker we pulled from his wound a grim reminder of the traitor in our midst. Evie's leaning against a wall, her blonde hair tangled, her smirk gone, but her blue eyes are too sharp, like she's hiding something. The air's thick with distrust, and I'm standing by the window, scanning New Avalon's docks for any sign of Crane's goons, my gun heavy in my hand. Lena's warning about a mole talking to Dorian has us all on edge, and I'm starting to think Evie's recklessness isn't just careless—it's calculated.
"Lena, what's the blueprint say?" I ask, my voice rough, trying to keep us focused. Her fingers pause, and she looks up, her face a mix of exhaustion and fire. The moment we shared in the skyscraper, her body under mine, lingers like a spark, and I want to hold onto it, but the job's a beast that won't wait.
"It's more than we thought," she says, zooming in on the tablet. The blueprint unfolds—a maze of laser grids, pressure plates, and the dual-lock system needing Crane's handprint and Sophia's voice. But there's something else, a hidden line in the schematics. "There's a secret entrance," she says, her voice rising. "An air vent, sublevel three, leads straight to the vault chamber. No guards, no drones—just a biometric lock we can spoof with the data we've got."
My heart kicks up. "A backdoor? That's our way in." But my excitement sours as I catch Evie's glance at the tablet, too quick, too curious. She's been off—her gala screw-up, her reckless stunt with the guards. Is she the one feeding Dorian our moves? I step closer to Lena, my hand brushing her shoulder, and she leans into it, just for a second, her warmth grounding me.
Marcus stirs, his dark eyes haunted, his voice low. "Sounds too easy. Crane doesn't leave backdoors." His hands shake, his PTSD raw after the bomb, and I know he's seeing his brother's death in every shadow. I want to pull him back, but Lena's voice cuts through, sharp and venomous, aimed at Evie.
"You'd know about easy, wouldn't you?" Lena snaps, standing, her tablet clutched tight. "Always flirting, always slipping up. You got us spotted at the gala, Evie. You let Sophia see you. Was that an accident, or are you selling us out?" Her words are a blade, and the room freezes.
Evie's eyes narrow, her smirk gone, replaced by a flash of anger. "You're calling me the traitor?" she fires back, stepping forward, her voice low and dangerous. "I've been saving your ass, Lena—charming guards, taking hits. Maybe you're the one screwing us, huh? Always on that tablet, talking to who-knows-who." She's too close now, her finger jabbing at Lena, and I'm between them before I think, my hands up.
"Enough!" I roar, my voice echoing in the tiny room. "We're a team, damn it. No one's selling anyone out until we've got proof." But my eyes lock on Evie, and she sees the doubt there. Her face hardens, and she steps back, crossing her arms. Lena's shaking, her eyes blazing, and I want to pull her close, tell her I've got her, but the blueprint's our lifeline, and we're running out of time.
"Lena, focus," I say, softer, my hand on her arm. She nods, her breath hitching, and we're alone in that moment, the room fading. I lean in, my lips brushing her ear, and whisper, "I trust you. Always." Her eyes meet mine, soft and fierce, and she kisses me, quick but deep, her lips a fire that burns away the chaos. My hands find her waist, pulling her closer, and for a heartbeat, it's just us, the heist forgotten.
Marcus clears his throat, breaking the spell. "Blueprint's a start," he says, his voice rough, "but we need a plan for that vent. Sublevel three's gotta be guarded." He's trying to focus, but his hands tremble, and I know he's fighting to stay here, not lost in his ghosts.
I nod, pulling away from Lena, my heart still racing. "We hit the skyscraper again—tomorrow night, through the vent. Lena, can you spoof the biometric lock?"
"Already on it," she says, her voice steadier now, her fingers flying across the tablet. "The handprint and voice data are enough. I'll build a portable spoofer." Her confidence is a lifeline, but Evie's pacing again, her silence loud, and I'm watching her every move.
Before I can press her, Lena's tablet blares an alert, and she curses, her face paling. "Incoming transmission," she says, her voice tight. "Encrypted, but it's breaking through my firewalls." My blood runs cold. Dorian. It's gotta be him. The screen flickers, and a video loads—Sophia Laurent, her black hair sleek, her brown eyes sharp, meeting a man in a dark suit. The camera zooms in, and my stomach drops. It's the President, his face unmistakable, talking to Sophia in a dimly lit room, Crane's client from the button camera feed.
"Dorian sent this," Lena whispers, her eyes wide. "He's showing us… the vault's bigger than we thought." The video cuts out, but Sophia's voice lingers, saying something about "delivery" and "global leverage." My mind races—jewels were just the start. What the hell's in that vault?