Like I’mseen.
“I meant it,” he says quietly.
I raise a brow. “Which part?”
“All of it. But mostly the beautiful part.”
I smile.
But there’s steel behind it now.
“You better. Because this face?” I tap my cheek. “It’s about to be on every screen across three systems once Otto’s house of lies crumbles.”
Voltar leans in.
Voice low.
Almost reverent.
“Good.”
CHAPTER 21
VOLTAR
Lazarus’s voice crackles in my earpiece as the hover rig banks hard left, slicing through the Novarian skyline like a blade through silk.
“You’re ghosted on every grid. Cameras are eating recycled loops from twelve hours ago. This is your window.”
“Copy,” I growl. “Window’s open. We’re going in.”
Sable sits next to me, legs braced wide, fingers flying over her wristpad, eyes narrowed into deadly little slits. No glam tonight. Just matte black armor and a glare that could drop a warlord.
She looks like vengeance. And I’m not ashamed to admit I’d burn planets to keep that fire lit.
I bank the rig once more, nosediving toward Otto’s so-called luxury complex—a fake development calledMarquant Heights, which is about as subtle as a neon target on a rotting fish. Grolgath architecture wrapped in corporate gloss. Nothing but reinforced concrete and buried secrets.
“This is it,” I murmur.
Sable nods. “Let’s blow some shit up.”
The landing struts hit the rooftop with a bone-jarringclang. I’m already out, pulse syncing to combat rhythm. The air is damp, tainted with industrial ozone and tension. High-altitudewind whips at us, dragging Sable’s loose armor straps like streamers from a war banner.
I rip the hatch off the roof access door with my bare hands. Metal screams. No alarms—thanks to Lazarus’s ghost signal weaving a digital lullaby across every system in the building.
“This way,” Sable shouts, sliding in first. “Target vault is sub-level three, west wing.”
I follow her into darkness.
The hallways are pure concrete—no pretense of luxury here. This is fortress tech. Hidden cameras. Pressure sensors. Heat signatures.
But Lazarus is a bastard genius.
Every system he loops falls silent beneath our boots.
“This almost feels too easy,” Sable mutters.
“Give it time.”
