“You going after your task?”
“Why does it matter?”
He shrugs, gaze unreadable. “It doesn’t. Just curious if you are stupid enough to try it alone.”
“Ihaveto do it alone,” I snap. “I don’t really have a choice.”
He steps a little closer, shadows catching across his jaw. “You have to do the task alone, but you don’t have to do recon alone.
I open my mouth, then shut it again. He studies me a moment longer.
“You’re right not to trust us,” he says. “But don’t confuse that with isolating yourself from other initiates. There’s a difference.”
“I can’t afford to have any of you make this harder,” I repeat.
Tex tilts his head. “You think I’d sabotage you?”
“I think you’ve all made it your personal hobby to watch me fail.”
“I grew up in a piss-soaked apartment with police sirens for lullabies. And I failed the only person who ever mattered to me.” His voice is low and honest.
My breath catches.
“I’m not the enemy, Ashthorne.” He looks at me, something raw behind his eyes. “Not tonight.”
Everything in my brain screams to walk away, to not talk to this broody brute and just get on with it. But something in my gut tells me to consider it.
“I’m not dragging you into this.”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” he chuckles. “You wouldn’t be able to. I’m choosing. That’s how Guild loyalty works. Or… supposed to.”
I scan his face one final time, and my gut wins.
“Fine. Keep up.” I walk past him, and he follows.
Tex takes us to a hidden garage where the Guild keeps vehicles for students. He hops into a nondescript car and motions for me to get in.
I give him directions as he drives, following the GPS on my phone.
Sablehall’s exterior doesn’t look like much. A three-story building with frosted glass, iron trim, and just enough disrepair to seem forgettable. But underneath… a renowned auction house. And I’m supposed to rob it.
We crouch behind a dumpster across the street. I pull out my tablet, flipping through the blueprints again. Tex peeks over my shoulder.
I scan the perimeter. Multiple guards. Security drones. An access keypad on every door. Everything about this place was designed to make people quit before they tried.
Tex taps my shoulder. “Motion trigger above the second window.”
“You’ve done stuff like this?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Once.”
I don’t press. Don’t need to. We sit there in silence for a beat, eyes on the building, breath clouding the night air.
I keep my gaze on the flickering drone light above the security gate, but something gnaws at me. Earlier, he said he’d failed someone. I fight the urge to ask, but curiosity wins out. I turn slightly toward him, voice quiet.
“You said… that you failed someone.”
The silence stretches.
