The heels pinched her toes with every step, a subtle but persistent reminder that she didn't belong here. Not that she needed one. The chandeliers above glittered like cages of light, the air heavy with a cloying mix of expensive perfume and false smiles. High society's elite surrounded her, their laughter a smooth, rehearsed melody. They belonged to a world of polished surfaces and buried secrets, and she was here to tear it apart.
Auryn tilted her head just low enough to avoid direct eye contact, her grip steady on the tray of champagne flutes. Her uniform—crisp black and white—itched at her neck and clung awkwardly to her frame. It wasn't designed for her comfort but for disguise, to make her invisible among the swarm of servers weaving through the ballroom.
She scanned the room carefully, deliberately. Damian Thorne stood near the center, gesturing broadly as his deep laugh rumbled across the gilded space. To everyone else, he was a model of success, his vast empire built on ambition. To her, he was a ruin-maker—a man who destroyed lives with the flick of a pen and a faux smile.
Standing slightly apart from the group, Elias Thorne sipped a whiskey neat, his sharp gaze raking over the crowd like a hawk scanning for prey. His tailored midnight-black suit made him look as though he'd stepped out of a magazine spread, but it was his presence, quiet yet electric, that demanded attention. Auryn kept her gaze fleeting, wary.
She didn't have time to think about Elias. Not now. Her mission wasn't him. It was upstairs, in the heart of the Thornes' private stronghold.
Her earpiece hummed softly, the signal faint but there—a reminder that her team's eyes were still on her. Not that she needed much hand-holding; years of preparation had taught her how to keep her head clear and her movements measured. Still, her palms were slick with sweat as she adjusted the tray.
"All good?" a voice crackled in her ear—Daria, her tech handler.
Auryn brought a glass of champagne to a waiting guest, using the motion to murmur under her breath. "Five minutes to the vault."
"Copy that," Daria replied. "Keep it clean."
Clean wasn't on her mind; fast was. Every moment spent in this room with Damian Thorne laughing and Elias Thorne watching was another moment her pulse grew louder in her ears.
"Waiter, another glass," someone called.
Auryn spun smoothly, presenting her tray to a man in his fifties with an air of self-importance. His tuxedo, impeccable as it was, barely hid the paunch straining his cummerbund.
"You're new," the man remarked, plucking a flute from the tray.
"Temporary staff," she replied with a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.
His gaze lingered too long, as if he was trying to place her face, but Auryn didn't give him the chance. She slipped away, her tray lighter now and her patience thinner. She edged toward the back corridor, carefully avoiding any cameras positioned overhead.
As the warmth and chatter of the ballroom faded behind her, a new unease crept in. The air grew cold—unnaturally so. She glanced over her shoulder, instinct prickling. The corridor stretched behind her, dark and quiet.
It wasn't her first infiltration, but tonight something felt... off. Unseen eyes seemed to pierce her skin, like shadows whispering her name in a language she couldn't understand. Her hand brushed the bracelet on her wrist, grounding her to the mission.
Focus. You can't afford ghosts tonight.
The elevator at the end of the corridor waited, polished mirrors reflecting her every move. She pressed the button, the soft hum of the doors sliding open breaking the eerie silence.
Inside, she retrieved the neural key from its hidden compartment in her bracelet. The small silver device gleamed in the dim light. A deep breath steadied her nerves as she tapped it against the elevator panel.
The feed from the elevator cameras flickered—a subtle loop that would give her exactly sixty seconds of invisibility.
"Thirty seconds until breach," Daria's voice crackled in her ear.
The floors ticked by agonizingly slow, her pulse beating louder with each. When the doors finally opened, she slipped into the stark hallway of the restricted floor. Her fingers moved quickly, swiping the key against the entrance to the server room. A soft click of the lock granting her access felt like the sweetest victory.
Inside, she found herself surrounded by towering server racks bathed in an icy blue glow. Her boots, meant to resemble sensible service flats, made barely a sound as she hurried to the main terminal. Rows of flashing lights surrounded her, each one containing encrypted threads of the Thornes' secrets.
She slid the USB into the slot. The program worked faster than her heartbeat, unraveling codes, piecing files together, and transferring them at lightning speed. The screen's reflection danced on her face as she scanned it for anything useful—falsified transactions, bribery logs, offshore accounts, payoffs to law enforcement. Each string of data was sharper than a blade, and she would use them all.
Beneath the triumph bubbling in her chest, a strange cold prickled her skin again.
Focus, Auryn. You're almost—
"What do we have here?"
The voice sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, snapping her head up from the terminal.
Elias Thorne leaned casually in the doorway, his angular features half-shadowed by the blue glow of the server lights. His presence was like an eclipse, drawing attention effortlessly.
"How did you—" she began, before catching herself.
"Please, continue," he said, taking a measured step into the room. His tone was light, conversational, but his gaze burned with suspicion and something sharper. Amusement?
"Mr. Thorne, I—" She took a deliberate step back toward the terminal, her brain scrambling for a plausible excuse, a distraction, anything.
"Don't bother. You're not exactly here to refill drinks," Elias interrupted. He gestured at the USB in the terminal. "Unless servers these days moonlight as corporate saboteurs."
Auryn's breath hitched, her fingers twitching toward the drive.
"Try it," Elias said softly, his words curling like smoke. "You might make it. Or I might stop you. Either way... fascinating story."
"And why would I tell you?" she shot back.
His lips curved slightly, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Because I already know who you are, Auryn Valentine."
The sound of her name hit her like a thunderclap. No one here should have known her. Yet Elias stood there, perfectly poised, as though daring her to test him.
As silence stretched, the air between them charged with tension, Auryn couldn't tell if the weight pressing on her chest was fear, fury—or something she couldn't yet name.