But nothing happens.
My heart doesn’t start again until I reach the far end and collapse, silent, behind a statue of some forgotten saint holding a sword.
The room ahead is a quiet kind of majestic — high ceilings, dark marble floors, recessed lighting casting gold shadows across polished surfaces. It was built to impress and intimidate. A single spotlight shines down on the pedestal in the center of the vault, and in the middle of that, under a delicate bell of glass, sits the Sunrise Ruby.
Even from here, it glows.
I creep to the railing, crouching low as I unclip the compact rope coil from my harness. My fingers move fast and sure. I fix the grappling hook into a carved stone notch along the balcony ledge and give it a hard tug.
Secure.
I loop the harness strap around my waist and thighs, check the line, and then climb onto the ledge. My boots balance on slick marble. Thirty feet below, the vault’s pressure sensor floor surrounds the pedestal. No landing. Just hang and hope the tension in the rope holds.
I lean back gradually, letting my weight shift until I’m suspended fully over the drop. My heart pounds, but my breath stays steady.
In. Out. No fear.
I walk down the wall backwards, lowering myself hand over hand. The silence is broken only by the squeak of my gloves against the rope and the low whir of climate control above.
Fifteen feet.
Ten.
Five.
My boots hover inches above the floor. Close enough that I can see the tiny pressure sensors tucked into the tile seams. I twist slightly in the air, adjusting my angle until I’m directly above the case.
The ruby gleams up at me, blood red, impossibly smooth.
I pull the glass cutter from my hip pouch and flick it open with a click that sounds too loud in the stillness. Steady. I score a circle, then brace my gloved hand beneath it as I ease the pane free.
No alarms.
No weight shift.
Good.
I reach inside.
The ruby is heavier than it looks. Perfect in my palm.
For a second, I just stare at it. Thirty million dollars in my hand. Enough to change lives. End them. Start wars. But to me, it’s just a task. One more step toward proving I belong here.
I slip it into the padded case on my belt and place the replica. I begin to ascend, fast and smooth, hauling myself up by the rope. No celebration. No wasting time. The longer I stay, the higher the chance of someone noticing.
I back away from the ledge and unhook my gear, every movement precise. My pulse is still elevated, but adrenaline has sharpened me, not rattled me.
I’ve done it.
But it isn’t over yet.
I use the liquid glass cutter on one of the top windows. I slip out of the opening, feeling like Catwoman. I reattach the glass, rotating it to match, wiping away any smudges. From a glance, no one would ever know I’d been here.
I cross to the east side where the building backs up against a luxury office complex. I measured the distance already, but it still doesn’t help my nerves. I only have a minute in between the guards changing for this jump. It’s eightfeet across, a solid two-story drop. I look around checking for guards, stepping back.
Deep breath.
Sprint.
