Page 87 of Phoenix's Last Heist
Fingers gripping the banister, she exhales and shakes her head, her meaning clear—Brill will get his another day.
We skirt the opulent staircase and she leads us through a hidden side door that opens out into the forbiddingly dry Ooneryx desert. Brill’s landscaped grounds are filled with brutal desert plants and suns-baked red and yellow earth. As soon as we step outside, we both immediately start coughing on the foul air and wind-blown dust, squinting across the horizon at the three setting suns. Pulling me back towards the edge of the compound’s thick, gray walls, Lyra leads us on, ducking between security drones and outdoor camera feeds.
Our extraction point is supposed to be just outside an old, abandoned hangar—a wide chamber tucked behind the gardens where gardening drones are stored and serviced. The glorified shed is bristling with busted speeders, half-dismantled hovercrafts, and boxes of contraband that never made it intoorbit. It takes us longer than I’d like to reach it—twice we have to hide behind massive spiked bushes to avoid patrols of Brill’s private guard sweeping the area. They haven’t gotten the memo about Kraxis.
But the moment we reach the rust-pitted shed, I spot him: Agent Vega, standing near the hull of a dust-covered skimmer, fiddling with a comms panel. He glances up and sees us. Relief flashes across his face, fast and fleeting.
“Took you long enough,” he mutters, keeping his voice low as he ushers us into the shadow of the skimmer. “What happened?”
Lyra tilts her head, eyes steady and hard. “We ran into Kraxis. He's dead.”
Vega raises his brows, but he doesn’t ask for details. He knows better.
“I’ve got some bad news,” he says instead, voice tightening. “Brill’s gone. Disappeared when the power started to go out. No sign of his shuttle, either—he must’ve had a back door none of us saw.”
Lyra pales at that, but she nods like she’d expected it.
“We’re still getting data from the fake idol,” Vega replies. “Encrypted command-level archives, partial routing maps, financial chains. It'll take the Bureau weeks to process it all, but it’s enough to start dismantling his network from the inside out.”
“But not enough to stop him,” Lyra says.
“Not yet,” Vega agrees. “But he won’t be able to hide for long.”
There’s a pause. Then Vega’s eyes settle on Lyra with something like genuine gentleness. “You did good, Lyra. Better than anyone could’ve asked. We wouldn’t have half this intel if not for you.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I watch her shoulders stiffen, like she’s keeping something in. Her voice, when it comes, is quiet.
“Not good enough. He’s still out there.”
“We’ll get him,” Vega says. “One way or another. He won’t run forever.”
I’m not sure she believes that. I’m not sure I believe it. But we nod, and that’s enough for now.
Vega opens his pack and produces two ID tags and a compact satchel. “You’ll need these. Transport credentials, comm scramblers, and a clean identity chip each. Should be enough to get you off-world. Cruiser’s parked in an auxiliary bay west of here—level six. Should still be operational.”
I take the satchel from him. “What about you?”
“I’ve got to head back toEpsilon-6, but I’ll stay in touch. If I get a hit on Brill’s whereabouts, I’ll send word.”
He holds out a hand. I clasp it, firm. “Thank you.”
Then he turns to Lyra. They don’t hug, and I don’t think either of them wants to. But there’s something shared in the look between them—comrades, co-conspirators, survivors.
“Take care of yourself, Vega,” she says, violet eyes flashing. “And if you catch him before I do…don’t kill him.”
He gives a solemn nod. “Understood.”
Then we’re moving again. No one’s chasing us, but it still feels like we’re being watched. Lyra keeps pace with me down the service stairs, through the lavish halls and toward the west hangar. We only speak once we reach the exterior doors and the sloping tunnel that leads to the cruiser bay.
Lyra glances at me sideways. “You still have the idol?”
I nod, eyeing her suspiciously. “I do. Why?”
She blows out a breath. “Let’s take it back to Xylothia.”
“What?” My mouth drops open in shock.
“It belongs there. Your people need it—you need it. The Feds don’t need it anymore. I’m sure they’ll have their hands full chasing after Brill and his whole stars-damned network.”
