Page 29 of Fated By Fire

“No. The fewer people involved, the better.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything monumentally stupid without backup?”

I pause, throat tight. “I promise.”

“You’re lying through your teeth, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Goddammit, Elena.” She huffs. “The vault’s got triple-layer security. Biometric scanners, motion sensors, the works. You sure about this?”

I spread the schematics across my desk, already mapping routes in my head. “No choice. It’s this or nothing.”

“There’s always a choice. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” I hang up before she can argue further and start gathering what I’ll need for tonight. Within minutes, I’m hefting a sturdy tote bag over my shoulder and smoothing my black polo neck over the top of dark jeans. The soles of my sneakers squeak on the linoleum stairs as I jog down to the parking bay.

The roads leading to downtown are mercifully quiet this time of night. My Jeep’s headlights cut sharp cones through the pitch-black as I navigate toward Craven Towers, its silhouette looming larger as I approach. Muffled rain patters against the windshield, and the rhythmic sweep of the wipers does little to calm my racing thoughts.

My plan—or lack thereof—is simple: break in, access the vault, and document what I find. It’ll take every ounce of skill I have, but what choice do I have? Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

You’ll get caught and thrown in prison.

Surely not? If I don’t take anything, what would they charge me with? Breaking and entering? It’s a misdemeanor, at worst. I’ll tell them it was a crazy dare. To get into the most impenetrable room in the city.

God, Lennie, that’s just about the stupidest idea you’ve ever come up with

But one hundred thousand dollars… One. Hundred.Thousand.Dollars!

Come on. You can do this!

Parking a block away from the monolithic skyscraper, I tug on a pair of thin gloves and check my gear one last time. Lockpicktools? Check. Compact flashlight? Check. My phone on airplane mode so no wandering signals can give me away? Check. I take a deep breath and pull the hood of my jacket over my head. My heart pounds like a war drum as I slide out of the Jeep and sprint through the rain toward the building’s service entrance.

The iron door creaks softly as I lever it open with tools that any self-respecting PI shouldn’t admit to owning. I slip inside, heart in my throat as the sounds of the city fade into eerie silence. Dim emergency lighting casts the halls in a faint orange glow, making every shadow seem to creep closer.

I glide through the familiar corridors like a ghost, avoiding the few strategically placed cameras. I breathe a small sigh of relief when I reach the elevator in the east wing that I’d committed to memory from Mara’s schematics.

Her sarcastic drawl echoes in my head as I recall her instructions: “Remember, babe, this thing’s a fortress, but you’ve got it—unless your spidey senses let you down because, you know, I’m not there to help you.”

The light on the biometric panel glows red as I reach the elevator doors, and I take a deep breath as I pause there. I researched this panel before I came over, and I think there’s a way to bypass it. I take out the small kit in my bag and brace myself. If it’s linked to an alarm, meddling with it might set it off. But Mara’s files didn’t mention one, so I’m holding thumbs that I’ll be able to work with it.

Turns out I don’t need to. As I draw closer, I see that the light is flickering. The red flashes intermittently. I touch the panel tentatively, and miraculously, it turns green with a softding.

Fuck! Lucky break!

It must be faulty. I release a heavy breath. When the elevator door opens, I step inside.

The vault is on the lowest sublevel—three floors below ground. My pulse races faster with each descent. From within the bellyof Craven Industries, the air grows colder and heavier, and I feel the pressure building.

The sublevel is as I expected—pristine, windowless, yet exuding a cavernous emptiness. The vault door dominates the far wall, all brushed steel and intimidating bulk. A strange sensation touches my skin as I pause at the entrance. A tingle that feels like a warm breath. I shudder instinctively, then shake my head.

Cut it out, Lennie.

Now’s not the time to give in to nerves. I approach it, and that’s when my plan—or what I’d call an “improvisation-in-progress”—hits its next snag. The retinal scanner blinks to life, casting a ghostly red light. I’ve seen plenty of action movies where someone removes an eyeball to hold in front of the scanner, but to be honest, that’s hardly my style.

I close my eyes and run through the mental notes I made from a site I found on the Dark Web. There are ways to fool these systems. And failing that, I could unscrew the damn thing and unlock the door the old-fashioned way.

Yeah, right.

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