All too soon, they were gathered in the living area again, clustered around the desk that Kildare had moved into the center of the room.

Serene stood over the table, finishing the final details on her sketch of the place Mock was staying. Snitch and Fir sat to the side, muttering back and forth as they went through the supplies they’d bought, making sure they had everything they needed.

Kildare watched from his perch on the back of the couch, tapping his steepled fingers against his chin.

Gradually Fir and Snitch stopped talking, and their eyes drifted over to him. Waiting. Kildare pressed back a sigh. If Mock was here, this would be everything he’d dreamed about—his team and his wife, working together.

He motioned for everyone to gather around the desk. “All right, so here are my thoughts. We need more reconnaissance, for one—we have to figure out a good place to get Mock alone.” He looked at Serene. “Right? You didn’t actually see where Mock was staying in here?”

Serene shook her head. “I didn’t even see Mock herself.”

Snitch frowned. “How do you know she was there, then?”

“Her scent was there, and it hadn’t drifted anywhere else,” Serene replied calmly.

“It’s not the end of the world if we’re seen, is it?” Fir asked.

“Depends on how jumpy these people are,” Kildare said. “I think we should go into it assuming the worst.”

Snitch flicked his wrist, a knife appearing from his sleeve. “So we just take out a few guards.”

“And hide the bodies where?” Kildare snapped. “Just because Mock betrayed us doesn’t mean I’m easing up on my killing policy, Snitch. If at all possible, we do this without bloodshed.”

Snitch grunted and made the knife disappear again. “What’s the point of this, Kil? You don’t wanna get revenge on Mock. You just wanna get the box and get out?”

“I want to get the puzzle box and I want to talk to Mock.” Kildare took a deep breath, waiting for the babble of opposition. No one said anything, but they all eyed him skeptically except Fir. Kildare tapped the charm bracelet on his wrist. “I’ve made myself clear on this. We give her a chance to explain herself. Besides, asking her will cut our search for the puzzle box shorter.”

“How many guards are we looking at?” Fir asked Serene.

She shrugged. “I saw at least a half dozen outside. Who knows how many more? But there was a supply delivery while I was there, and if that’s any judge, then there’s a decent chance they were either planning to stay for a long time, or laying in supplies for about fifty people all told. There was fresh produce in the delivery though, so I’d say the latter is the best guess. And judging by the size of the house, they probably have about ten servants on staff, so we’re looking at somewhere between thirty-five and forty trained soldiers.”

Snitch whistled. “Well, this will be fun.”

Kildare shrugged. “It’s just like most of the private residence jobs we’ve pulled.” He pointed to the east side of the house in Serene’s sketch. “I think the upper-story windows will be our best point of entry. There’s ivy, so while Snitch and Serene create a distraction, Fir and I will go in and he can strengthen the ivy so we can climb. Once in, we’ll sneak down to the kitchens and open a window for Snitch and Serene. When we’re all inside, we’ll have to move quickly—with the distraction, the guards will probably become suspicious and try to search the house.”

Fir shook his head, breathing in through his teeth. “If we get caught—”

“Hopefully we find Mock or the box before that happens.” Kildare forced a grin. “Best-case scenario, we talk to Mock and find the puzzle box. Worst case, we get caught and sent to prison.”

“Or Oak kills us,” Serene said quietly. “Or we don’t get the puzzle box, and Basalt forces us into slavery.”

“You’re a bag of fun, aren’t you, darling?” Snitch growled at her.

Serene raised her eyebrows. “Please tell me that your plans usually skewed more toward how you handled the museum versus how you’re handling this.”

Fir chuckled. “Usually we had more than a day to scope out a place, too.”

“Hey, hey.” Kildare flicked a pen at Serene’s arm. “I’m working with what I’ve got.”

She smirked. “Darling husband, if we get out of this job without having to run for our lives, I’ll owe you an apple turnover.”

“Can I get in on that bet?” Fir said. “I’ll buy if we end up not in prison again.”

“Hard to buy turnovers in a prison cell,” Snitch pointed out irritably. “I’ll be happy with not dying.”

Kildare clasped his hands at the back of his neck. “If worse comes to worst, Fir, Serene and I will shift.”

“You can’t shift,” Snitch snapped.

Kildare ignored him. “We’ll get you and Snitch out of there.” He turned to Snitch. “I can shift enough.”

“So you’d kill yourself trying to rescue one of us.” Snitch rolled his eyes. “Your nobility is touching, but misplaced. Save it for someone else.”

Fir glanced up at Kildare. “If we fail, we’ll all be doomed for the auction markets by tomorrow morning.”

Kildare shrugged. “We’ll go on the run. Do something. If Basalt does want us sold into slavery he’s going to have to drag us there kicking and screaming.”

No one said anything after that. The mood was dark, and so heavy that Kildare could almost feel it like a physical weight on his shoulders. He ducked into his room to change into his shifter clothing and breathed a deep sigh of relief as he pushed the door shut behind him.

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He’d always wanted the heists to be something more. For some reason other than to have the money to give to the people around him. But he’d never wanted the stakes this heavy—this personal.

He tugged the close-fitting leggings on, then put his regular pants and shirt on over them. As he finished buttoning his shirt, a knock came at the door.

“Kil?” It was Serene. “We’re ready.”

He took a few seconds for another deep, mind-clearing breath, then squared his shoulders. As long as he put on a confident face, let his team see that he believed in them…they actually had a shot. He rubbed the charm bracelet on his wrist again, then opened the door.

Serene reached up, pressed her hand to his heart. He could feel the blood pulsing through her fingertips and knew she could feel his hammering heartbeat. Her blue eyes flicked over his face, searching, knowing him more deeply than even he could. She arched up on tiptoe and kissed him gently, more gently than she ever had before, and the soft touch of her lips almost broke him. The bond between them was stretching again, even though they stood close. Kildare could feel it…and this time, he wasn’t sure if it would stretch past the breaking point or not. He blew out a breath and wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, breathed in the sea salt and burnt ember smell of her.

After a moment, Serene slipped out of his grasp, squeezed his hands tightly, then opened the door and was gone, like a shadow. Snitch slunk after her, his tall frame seeming shrunken and caved in on itself.

Without a word, Fir looked at him, nodded, and stepped out the door. Kildare paused on the threshold, scanning the room. It was still in disarray from their planning session, but they’d left nothing behind. He took a deep breath of the sea air filtering through the still open window and pulled the door closed behind him, feeling like he was forever closing off a part of his life.

This was it.

They walked through the tavern portion of the Broken Chair, ignoring the noise and shouts and smells of sour beer around them. Outside was sticky and hot, despite the light breeze blowing in from the sea and the setting sun. Kildare felt the warmth of the cobblestones under his feet, even through the soles of his boots.

Serene and Snitch were nowhere to be seen, so he and Fir kept moving, weaving in and out of the traffic until they’d climbed the winding hills of the streets above the harbor, into the wealthier district of the city.

The house was tall and narrow, built of sturdy brick on the lower story and pristine white stucco on the two upper stories. Just as Serene had said, the sides were covered in ivy. It would make it easier to climb up to the top floor, where the windows yawned open, protected only by flimsy wooden shutters, to help catch the nightly sea breeze and cool the house.There didn’t look to be any guards, not at first glance as they walked by, but Kildare was sure there were men watching the gated entrance in the hedges that surrounded the house.

He and Fir turned the corner, then ducked into the hedge, worming their way through the thick, tangled greenery until they could see the house. Then they settled in to wait. It was incredibly uncomfortable—the thick leaves meant that little of the evening sea breeze made it through the hedge, so there was little relief from the sticky humidity. Kildare didn’t dare squirm around much, so he settled into a crouch that, after sitting for a while, made him realize he had sticks jabbing him in the shoulder. There wasn’t much he could do about it without making a lot of noise, though, so he tried to ignore it, turning the charm bracelet over and over on his wrist.

As the sky darkened, several men left the house and began to patrol the expansive, manicured lawn. They watched, and Kildare could hear Fur murmuring under his breath, taking note of how many pairs of men patrolled the lawn and at what intervals.

He glanced up at the sky. Overhead, a few of the brighter stars twinkled in the deepening light. It was almost full dark.

He nudged Fir’s shoulder. Fir reached up, and a faint green glow surrounded his hand as he gently brushed aside branches so he could move over and give Kildare more room. The twigs willingly bent out of his way, leaving a clear space for Fir’s slim shoulders to slide through.

“Couldn’t have done that earlier?” Kildare smirked at him.

Fir shrugged, grinning.

Any moment now, Serene and Snitch would light the fireworks. They had to be ready for that split second when everyone would be startled and look for the noise.

“Ready to go?” he said.

Fir blew out a breath. “Yeah. I just hope…” He shook his head. “Mock’d say I almost jinxed us.”

Fir laughed. “Yeah, she would.”

Kildare resettled his pack on his shoulders. What would they find in this house? Explanations? The prize that would keep them away from the slave block? Kildare knew he couldn’t hope for both outcomes. That he’d probably have to choose. But blight, he couldn’t choose.

With an unearthly shriek, a trail of sparks flew into the sky and shattered, scattering pink-colored embers against the navy blue. Shouts exploded from the far corner of the estate.

Fir waved his hands, and the hedge branches parted in front of them, giving them a clear shot to the house. Kildare held his arm out, holding Fir back as he scanned the dark stretch of grass. A few shapes scrambled from the front of the house and disappeared behind the walls.

“Go,” he ordered, and dashed forward.

The grass was cold and damp against his bare feet as he ran. Behind him, he could hear Fir’s feet thudding against the earth, the slight jingle of the straps of their packs. Another firework shrieked into the sky and died in a shower of blue sparks.

They skidded to a stop beside the wall. Fir stretched out his hands, one at his side, fingers twitching, the other buried to the wrist in the ivy that covered the stone wall of the house. Wood creaked and groaned, and leaves rustled.

Kildare gulped in air and glanced over his shoulder. He could see several guards running across the backyard, and could hear the shouts of more, but no one seemed to be looking their way.

“Come on.” Fir grasped handfuls of the vines and scurried up the wall.

He scrambled up the ivy after Fir. The vines creaked under his weight, but held. Above him, Fir’s lock picks clicked. He shoved open one of the shuttered windows and crawled inside.

As Kildare reached for the windowsill, the vine supporting his foot snapped. Kildare yelped and dug his fingers into the vines below the window.

“What was that?”

Kildare’s lungs froze. He tried to pull himself up, but the vines creaked menacingly. He could hear footsteps coming around the corner of the house.

Fir reached down and grabbed his wrists, hauling him up. Kildare collapsed to the floor, and Fir quickly swung the window shut.

A low murmur of voices sounded outside, but no shouts. Kildare strained, but couldn’t hear what they said.

“Did they see you?” he whispered, sitting up.

“I don’t know,” Fir muttered. “They could’ve caught the last glimpse of the window swinging shut, but who knows if they’ll come investigate it or not.”

They crouched near the wall, frozen, listening, but with the near-constant screech of the fireworks, they couldn’t tell whether the guards had moved on or not. Kildare reached for his pack and pulled his shirt on.

“How big of a pack of fireworks did they buy?” Fir hissed in Kildare’s ear.

“A five-minute one.”

“Stars, Kil.” He chuckled.

“What? I wanted to be sure to give them plenty of time.” Kildare stood up and glanced around the room. It was small, with shelves and simple wooden boxes mostly filling the space. Neatly folded linens were tucked in the shelves, and there was a strong smell of cedar and mothballs that tickled his nose. The room’s door was propped open and he could feel the slight hint of a night breeze channeling through the room.

Kildare crept forward, easing his feet down on the boards so they wouldn’t creak. They made their way out of the linen storage. The hall was long and low, with bare, varnished boards. Several other doors lined the hallway, all shut. Probably servants’ quarters.

The stairs barely squeaked as Kildare walked down, two landings that took them—just as he’d hoped—right into the back of the kitchen. He paused, scanning the darkened room, hoping there were no servants up late tidying up.

The room seemed empty. Outside, brilliant pops of pink and green colored the sky, washing the inside of the kitchen with faint echoes of the colors. Kildare motioned for Fir to stay in the shadows of the stairwell and stepped toward the windows at the back of the room. He leaned over the butcher block and rested his fingers on the latch on the inside of the window. Another loud crackle, and he flipped the latch open, swinging the window wide.

Serene. We’re ready for you.

A hand gripped his ankle.