“You know, we could just tell Elysium we’d leave to work for the competition if they didn’t get rid of these tanks,” Misha mutters, carefully dipping the net into the water. “They’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” Oliver retorts, holding Misha steady as he focuses on scooping up the fish.
Misha rolls his eyes as he finally manages to corner a few of the neon tetras. “I don’t know if enjoying criminal activities makes you stupid or dumb,” he mutters, though his tone is more playful than anything.
“I’ve never been called either,” Oliver says, grinning. “Now, hurry up before my arms give out.”
My heart skips a beat as Misha’s triumphant voice fills the air. “Got ’em!” he announces, as I’m leaning in closer to my screen, wanting to feel like part of the action. I watch as he carefully slides the fish into the water-filled plastic bag and secures it before Oliver smoothly lowers him back to the floor.
“Good job,” I praise through the earpiece, rallying their motivation for the task ahead. “Only about nine hundred more to go.”
Misha’s groan of frustration is so dramatic that I have to stifle a laugh. “Do we really have to graball of them?” he whines. “This is insane. I bet…” he trails off, counting the ones in the bag. “…three are enough to show her our goodwill.”
I shake my head, even though they can’t see me. “We’ll grab enough so Amelia’s aquarium is full. I’ve already informed Animal Welfare, and they said the Seattle Aquarium will take the rest. They’ll probably get them tomorrow afternoon.”
I’m quite proud of myself for thinking ahead on this one.
“God, this will take all night,” Misha grumbles while he places the bag into the bucket beside him.
“Probably,” I agree, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being there in person. “But let’s not actually take all night. We need to get this done before anyone shows up.” I glance at the clock, acutely aware of the ticking time.
“Says the one sitting on his ass at home,” Misha grumbles, and I raise an eyebrow at his sass.
“What did you say?” I ask, with a mixture of amusement and warning.
“Nothing,” Misha lies, and I can practically hear the innocent smile in his voice. I watch as Oliver crouches again, ready to lift Misha for another round.
They repeat the process, each time getting a bit smoother as they fall into a rhythm—Oliver lifting, Misha scooping, and the tetras quickly finding a new home in the plastic bags. The hallway remains eerily silent, save for the soft sound of water splashing and the occasional muttered curse from Misha.
“How’s it looking out there?” Oliver asks after a while, glancing nervously toward the building’s entrance, tension clear in his posture.
My eyes dart across the multiple camera feeds on my screen. “Still clear,” I confirm. “‘I’ll be ready if anything changes. You’re good.”
They continue with their mission, carefully transferring the fish, and the buckets begin to fill, but the tank still holds hundreds of neon tetras.
Misha nets another batch of fish then a sudden noise echoes down the hallway—a creak, like a door opening somewhere nearby. Misha freezes, eyes wide, his grip on the net tightening. “Did you hear that?”
Oliver goes still, his head whipping toward the sound. “Grey, we’ve got something.”
I quickly scan the feeds, my heart pounding. “Hold on… I don’t see anyone. It might just be the building settling. Remain calm.”
Misha lets out a shaky breath and starts scooping the fish in slow motion as if that would keep him from being detected by someone.
“Let’s just finish up and get out of here,” Oliver urges, and Misha begins to scoop faster, his movements more urgent again.
The buckets are almost full, and still, the hallway remains empty. I keep my eyes glued to the feeds, every nerve on edge.
“This has to be enough,” Oliver says finally as they fill the last bag. “The rest will be saved tomorrow.”
Misha lowers the net and wipes a bit of sweat from his brow. “All right, let’s get out of here.”
I lean forward, scanning the Elysium hallways one last time. “Hold on,” I murmur, eyes locked on the screen. “Okay. Coast is clear. No movement outside. You’re good to go.”
They make their way toward the exit, buckets in hand, moving swiftly but carefully, like two perfect bandits in the night. The street outside should be quiet when they reach it, with no one around to witness their late-night operation.
Our operation.
But just as the door to freedom comes into view, another sound—a faint rustle, like footsteps—makes them both freeze. My muscles tense, and my heart races as I scan the feeds.
