“Ladies and gentlemen!” Scamantha bellowed, arms flung wide, sock still half-slipped down her face. Her grin was manic, eyes bright with delight. “This is a robbery!”

  Smoke curled thickly across the gilded hall. She waved a hand in front of her face, the shimmer of the bubble spell catching the haze like faint soap-film. At least she could breathe.

  The employees weren’t so lucky.

  Clerks and attendants in neat purple-trimmed uniforms stumbled back from their desks, eyes watering. One young man dropped the quill he’d been holding, hands clamped over his mouth as he hacked into his sleeve. A woman near him swayed, her arms full of ledgers she’d been too slow to abandon, blinking rapidly against the sting. They stared through the haze at Lunaris and her group… not guards, not fighters, just workers caught in the blast radius, their faces pale and confused.

  Lunaris’s stomach twinged. Not slaves, she reminded herself quickly.

  Her boots skidded slightly on the marble as she sprinted deeper, cloak flaring behind her, sock fluttering as if it was protesting the fumes too. The smoke swirled as if reluctant to part, and through the shifting gray she saw guards.

  Two dozen at least, pressed tight near the eastern corner, shields raised in a tight formation.

  Their armor was heavy plate, polished steel with dark-purple etching, crests of the Auction House engraved into the chestplates: a stylized dragon curling around a coffer. They glinted dull in the sunlight struggling through the fog, every seam clean, every strap drawn tight. These weren’t sloppy rent-a-guards; they were drilled, seasoned.

  And between their shields, huddled against the wall like sheep corralled by wolves, ten slaves knelt with wrists bound. Their glazed eyes flicked dully toward Lunaris, though whether with hope or fear she couldn’t tell.

  The first of the guards spotted her, and his voice cut through the smoky chaos with the sharp crack of authority.

  “Halt!”

  The formation rippled as one, shields braced, halberds lowered in unison. The man at their front stepped forward, armor gleaming brighter than the rest, trimmed with golden filigree that marked rank. His hair was iron gray, his shoulders square, his presence serious as the steel he carried.

  “I am Captain Malik,” he grumbled, voice carrying easily through the haze. “And you fools have chosen the wrong grandmaster to steal from.”

  Lunaris’s chest tightened with anticipation.

  His gaze swept across them with disdain, as if they weren’t even worth the trouble of raising his blade. “This hall you’ve broken into is the most secure vault in the city. You think a few tricks and smoke can rattle us? The path to the treasure is layered with traps, wards, and spells you cannot even begin to understand.”

  He jabbed the butt of his halberd against the marble; the sound cracked.

  “The moment you blew that door, you sealed your own fate. Every rune in this building awoke; every corridor behind you closed. You will never reach the vault. Never. So if you value your lives, scram. Go try your luck robbing another grandmaster… one less clever, less prepared.”

  His teeth bared in something between a grimace and a smirk. “You’ll find no victory here.”

  “Who said we need victory?” Scamantha smiled like a wolf and slid into an uneasy crouch beside Lunaris, her grin sharp enough to slice steel.

  Yuki leaned in close, her hair glimmering faintly like sunlight caught in glass. “Luny, who should I take?” she whispered, fingers twitching with magic.

  Scamantha’s eyes flicked sideways, waiting.

  Expectant.

  Oh. Right. She was supposed to lead.

  Lunaris plastered on the brightest smile she could muster, even if her stomach was doing full-on cartwheels. “Scamantha, fire! Yuki, flank me… like we did on the mission. We’ll take them on together.” Her voice dropped softer as her gaze darted past the shield line, catching the shimmer of a robe and staff. “Ian, please take down that mage. He’s measuring us already.” She nodded quickly, then gave him a pleading look. “You can do it, right?”

  Ian’s jaw tightened, and for a moment she thought he’d falter. But then he smirked crookedly and muttered just loud enough for her to hear: “For you? Always, my little swordbear.”

  Her eyes went wide. Blood surged into her cheeks so fast she thought steam might hiss out her ears. Swordbear?! Oh stars, no, no, no. Not in front of everyone.

  “Don’t call me that out loud!” she squeaked, voice cracking, heat flooding her face.

  Yuki blinked, Scamantha snorted, and Phèdre… stars above, of course she’d overheard, covered her mouth with delicate fingers, giggling like she’d just been gifted the juiciest gossip in Rimelion.

  Lunaris wanted to vanish into her cloak. Or maybe stab herself with the nearest sock. And yet… some tiny part of her glowed, warm and unshakable, beneath all the embarrassment.

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  Captain Malik’s voice snapped like steel drawn from a scabbard. “Advance!”

  The shield wall surged forward as one, boots striking marble in thunderous unison. The purple-etched plate gleamed through the smoke, halberds lowering like a forest of spears angled for slaughter.

  The line had barely crossed the first row of shattered tiles before a glass vial arced lazily overhead and shattered at their feet.

  Whumph!

  A blossom of fire erupted, hungry and orange, splattering across shields. Heat washed over the hall, hot enough to make Lunaris flinch even from behind. Screams cut through the disciplined march as two guards dropped, armor glowing red at the seams.

  Scamantha’s laughter rang bright. “My prices are low; you all can be mages! I call this Sca-Fire!” she shouted behind her, and Lunaris noticed she was recording… Was she recording an ad for her products? Now?!

  The smoke churned hotter, carrying the smell of scorched varnish and boiling oil.

  Lunaris didn’t hesitate. Her legs worked. That single fact lit her smile as wide as the flames. She pushed forward, lungs filling with acrid air, cloak snapping around her calves. She pulled her Mistrael free with one hand, her rapier with the other, blades flashing silver in the haze.

  She hit the front line like a note struck on perfect tempo.

  Mistrael swept, battering a halberd aside, rapier darting in after, needling through a joint seam to make the wielder howl. She pivoted on her heel, sliding under the swing of another, then rose with both blades humming in counterpoint.

  A metronome of blood and breath.

  Shields slammed toward her. She parried wide with the Mistrael, slipped inside the arc, and thrust the rapier through a gap beneath an armguard. Steel scraped bone; the man roared. She kicked off his chest, spun, and flowed into the next strike, cloak snapping like punctuation.

  Light burst at her flank. Yuki whirled through the smoke, her hair blazing, palms flicking mirrors into existence. A halberd thrust met a shimmering coin-shield, shattered it, only for the next to blossom and blind the attacker in the same heartbeat. Sun-shards ricocheted, dazzling eyes, buying Lunaris space to drive her rapier across a throat seam.

  “Got your flank, Luny!” Yuki shouted, grinning through the smoke.

  Lunaris exhaled, tempo steady, shoulders loose despite the crush of enemies. She slid back to back with Yuki for half a second, then surged forward again, Mistrael sweeping wide to carve open space for them both.

  The air erupted again.

  Another vial from Scamantha detonated, this one spewing choking green mist that clung like spiderwebs. Guards staggered, hacking, armor hissing as if the fumes were chewing at the metal itself.

  “Try not to breathe that!” Scamantha sang from somewhere behind, sock still dangling absurdly over half her face. “Don’t forget our catchphrase… you all can be mages!” Her hands blurred, pulling vial after vial, tossing them with the precision of a veteran grenadier.

  Fire, smoke, poison… a fake-mage painting chaos across the floor.

  Phèdre’s voice threaded through it all, sweet and clear. Healing warmth shimmered around Lunaris’s legs as a cut along her thigh knit closed. “There, mon cherie,” the healer crooned, as if Lunaris were her doll. A moment later, a dart of magic flicked past Lunaris’s shoulder… a lazy missile that clipped a guard’s cheek and made him flinch back.

  Not all healing. Of course she was taking potshots too.

  Lunaris ducked low, parried, spun. Her rhythm carried her deeper, every strike a stitch closer toward the corner where the guardroom door yawned open. She glimpsed the bench inside: a wide slab of polished stone, carved with runes so dense they shimmered like a spiderweb.

  That must be the control table.

  The target.

  A curse hissed through the air… not from the guards. From Scamantha. Lunaris caught it only out of the corner of her eye: a vial bursting not into fire or acid but into writhing shadows that clawed up a guard’s body. The guard shrieked, dropping her weapon, clutching at herself as if her veins were on fire.

  Lunaris’s stomach lurched. Did she just—? Stars, was that a curse?

  She didn’t have time to dwell. Another halberd whistled toward her ribs. She met it, Mistrael widening the strike, rapier stabbing under the visor seam. Blood sprayed, hot and metallic, spattering across her cheek.

  “Push!” she barked, forcing her voice louder. “Push, push!”

  Yuki darted past her, flickering into three afterimages at once. The guards faltered, stabbing at shadows, only to eat a blinding flash of refracted light. Lunaris slipped into the gap Yuki left, cutting two down with swift, needle-clean thrusts.

  Behind them, Ian was locked in a desperate dance with the enemy mage. His daggers flashed, sloppy but frantic, scraping against the staff that batted them away. Sparks spat with every clash. Ian lunged again, missed, nearly stumbled… then grit his teeth and came back harder.

  Lunaris risked a glance over her shoulder, teeth clenched. “Ian!” she called, parrying hard against a halberd. Her eyes met his for a heartbeat.

  Puppy eyes. Determined, terrified, completely out of his depth. Cute. Infuriatingly cute. Heat climbed her cheeks, even mid-fight. “Focus, Daggerbear!” she yelled, voice louder than intended. His ears went red even from here.

  A halberd clipped her pauldron, jolting her back into tempo. She staggered, exhaled, and reset, Mistrael wide, rapier quick.

  Parry, thrust, spin.

  The guardroom was so close now she could taste the stale air spilling from it. Another pair of guards barred her way, shields raised, teeth gritted. She ducked low, slid under their arcs, then burst up between them, blades crossing in a scissor slash that left both reeling.

  The bench loomed inside, covered in a spiderweb of glowing runes.

  “Yuki, cover me!” Lunaris shouted.

  “Got it!” Yuki’s mirrors burst bright, scattering a volley of halberds.

  Lunaris pulled the vial from her belt, its fluid swirling. She broke into a run… not stumbling, not hobbling, but running, cloak and sock streaming. She ducked past one strike, spun through another, blades cutting quick diversions, her rhythm never faltering.

  Three dance-steps. A parry. A twirl.

  She hurled the vial.

  It shattered on the bench.

  The explosion wasn’t fire or smoke… it was silence and light collapsing inward, a ripple of distorted time that sucked air toward it and then burst outward in a wave. The runes screamed, sparks crawling across them like insects on fire, then shattered all at once. The spiderweb glowed red, cracked, and flashed.

  The whole hall shook. The walls groaned like a beast waking.

  “Ah! Good job!” Scamantha giggled behind her, delighted as a child. “Bang Bang!”

  Lunaris’s pulse thundered. She spun in time to see Ian finally slip inside the mage’s guard. His daggers drove forward in a desperate, clumsy thrust. The steel punched through the man’s throat. Blood sprayed, and the mage collapsed, gurgling.

  A kill notification flickered across their vision.

  “Going!” Lunaris gasped, lunging back into rhythm. She sprinted toward Yuki, blades flashing, cutting down a guard that had cornered her friend.

  “Cover!” Yuki shouted, mirrors fracturing another strike.

  Lunaris Mistrael slammed the halberd wide, rapier plunging into a gap. The guard dropped. She exhaled, slid back, shoulders brushing Yuki’s.

  Phèdre’s warmth rushed over them both, knitting cuts, filling tired lungs with strength. “Breathe, mes chéries,” she sang, her voice too calm for the chaos. Another magic missile flicked from her staff, bursting harmlessly against a pauldron, but enough to stagger the guard.

  Together, they reset their footing.

  Lunaris spun her blades, breathless, cheeks flushed, heart racing with equal parts terror and exhilaration. We did it. We actually did it.

  Ian scrambled back to Scamantha like a mouse to a very questionable cheese, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. He looked like he had been run through a blender and come out mostly intact.

  Then a thunder of boots descended.

  Ten reinforcements came down the main stairs like a tidal slap. Lunaris felt the shift under her feet, the way the hall’s pressure leaned toward them. They managed to leave seven guards standing, that had seemed like little a moment ago. Now there were seventeen, and the math tasted bad.

  Scamantha was mid-smirk, sock half-off as she hooked a finger into Ian’s shirt as if he were a tassel on her coat. “Pardon us, mister guard,” she cooed, voice syrupy sweet. “It was fun an’ all, but we’re leaving! Ta-ta!” and she hauled him toward the blasted doorway with a casual tug that made him fold like origami.

  The captain’s jaw snapped. “Don’t let anyone else leave!”

  His command rolled down the marble, and the ten new guards surged forward to the blasted-open doorway, shields forming a living barricade that bisected the hall. They planted themselves there, halberds crossed, faces hard.

  The captain finished, and the words had no room for doubt: “They’ll pay for it.”