I make my choice and go up.
If there’s even a small chance I can ID whoever ruined eighteen months of undercover work, I’m taking it.
Slowly, I pry open the door and peek into the fourth-level gallery. I have no idea if the person I’m chasing is armed. Whoever’s lurking is probably just as ticked off at me for interrupting their plans as I am at them.
I slip inside. Technically, I should have the advantage. I was just here. I know the layout. But whatever ease I felt minutes ago? Gone. Now, every dark corner between the sculptures and display cases looks ready to strike.
Turning back isn’t an option. If museum security catches me skulking around, I’ll have to explain, and there’s no version of that conversation I like. The only way out is across the gallery, through the stairwell door on the far side. And the only thing standing in my way is the figure in black.
Movement by a window snaps my attention left. I pick up my pace, careful to stick to the shadows. A display wall stands between us, and as I duck past a spotlight shining down on an abstract piece, my shoulder brushes the frame.
I freeze. A soft red glow pulses behind the painting—a motion alarm. One wrong move, and this place will light up like a Christmas tree. Exhaling slowly, I ease back.
Behind me, the stairwell door bangs open. Male voices echo across the gallery. The guards.Fantastic.My time’s up.
I pivot toward the stairwell, moving fast but quiet, rounding the corner—expecting my quarry to be long gone—only to find them less than ten feet away. They’re facing me. Or at least, I think they are.
Darkness cloaks them so thoroughly, all I can make out are thewhites of their eyes. Something about the way they’re standing, the tension vibrating off them, feels... wrong.
There’s no time to puzzle it out. The guards are getting closer. I spin toward the stairwell—only to hear footsteps coming up fast.
“I’m heading to the fourth level now,” a voice says, followed by the sharp burst of static from a radio.
Backing up a few steps, I realize I’m pinned. Two guards behind me and one about to cut me off in front. I glance at the mounted security cameras. Someone on our tech team had better be awake at the wheel tonight.
My gaze cuts left—to the figure in black. They’re edging toward the window. If they try opening it, the alarms will make both our lives harder. But they stop. And the wall beside them shifts. Not a wall—a door. One hidden so well it even has fake crown molding and a painting hung on it. In the space of a blink, the figure slips through and vanishes.
I start for the door—it’s my only shot out of here—but when I get to the wall, there’s no knob. The first two guards are only a room over now, and the third guard is calling out to them. Only a wall and this door separate me from getting caught.
My fingers scrape along the molding until I find the latch. I twist it and wedge the door open just enough to slip through into a low-lit hallway. Crates and frame boxes line the walls. This must be where they move the pieces in and out of the gallery. The hallway only leads one way, so I follow it, quick and silent, until I hit a service elevator and another set of stairs. No sight of the figure in black. Doesn’t matter anymore. Saving this mission is the only priority.
“What are you doing?”
Ruby’s voice crackles in my earpiece, making my heart spike. If she’s checking in, I’ve already burned too much time. Ruby doesn’t do patience. If I don’t answer her fast, she’ll come looking, and that’s the last thing I want.
I can’t drag another agent into this mess.
Sweat beads along my collar as I jog down the steps. I don’t knowwhere this stairwell exits, but I can’t take the risk of popping out in the middle of the gala. The guards are clustered on the fourth level. The third level should be clear.
I ease the door open and step into a narrow, dark hallway. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust. Then I spot the easels and half-restored paintings. The oily chemical smell hits me a second later—linseed oil, varnish, solvents. Conservation studio.
If I’m here, then—
I crack open the next door and confirm it. Across the hall sits the Mayer Library. Only now, I’m out of time. Ramirez and Rook could show up any second—or Ruby will. Neither option ends well.
Frustration tightens in my gut.
Movement across the gallery catches my eye. The figure in black, slipping between the exhibits. They don’t know I’m here. Yet. So I take advantage. Moving swiftly toward them, I keep the pedestals holding sculptures between us.
“Stop.” The word rumbles out, half growl, half command. To my surprise, they do.
It feels like déjà vu. Shadow against shadow. Facing off. Only now, they have two choices—run upstairs toward the guards or downstairs toward the gala.
I take a step forward, feeling like the tables have finally shifted in my favor. Until I see their hand move. Quickly, I shift left, putting a marble bust between me and whatever they’re about to pull. Gun? Blade? Something worse?
But they’re not aiming at me. Their hand presses against the wall, right next to a portrait of a woman reaching from a boat to rescue the shipwrecked.
I freeze, confusion cutting through the adrenaline. Then it clicks. The motion sensor. One nudge of that frame and the alarms will go off and chaos will descend. But—what about them? They’ll be caught too. Unless...
