Chapter 10: Morning Debriefing
The first thing Judy felt was the solid, warm pressure against the curve of her ass. Rick was still asleep, his breath soft on the back of her neck, but his body was already stirring. A slow, insistent hardness nestled in the cleft of her cheeks.
She smiled into her pillow, the memories of the night before—Stacy’s mouth on her, Rick’s hands everywhere, the three of them moving in a sweaty, groaning tangle—flooding back with a pleasant ache. She reached back without opening her eyes, her fingers wrapping around his half-hard length. She stroked him, slowly at first, then with a firm, knowing rhythm, feeling him swell and pulse to full, rigid attention in her grip.
“Mmm,” Rick groaned into her hair, his hips pressing forward.
Judy arched her hips, pushing her ass back against him. “Fill me from behind, darling,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep and want.
He didn’t need telling twice. His hand slid between her thighs, finding her already wet and open. He guided himself to her entrance, the broad head nudging against her slick folds, and then he pushed in with one smooth, deep stroke.
“Christ,” he hissed, his body going rigid as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.
Judy gasped, the perfect, stretching fullness driving the last of the sleep from her mind. She pressed her face into the pillow, a low moan escaping as he began to move. He fucked her doggy-style with a steady, deep rhythm, his thighs slapping against the backs of hers, his balls tightening and slapping against her clit with every thrust. The room filled with the wet, rhythmic sound of their joining, punctuated by their ragged breaths.
“Yes, just like that,” Judy begged, pushing back against him to meet every plunge. “God, Rick, your cock is so fucking good.”
The doorbell chimed, a melodic, intrusive sound.
“Ignore it,” Rick grunted, his pace quickening.
But the bell chimed again, persistent.
From the ensuite bathroom, Stacy emerged, a towel draped loosely around her hips, her silver-streaked hair damp. She gave the heaving bed a slow, appreciative once-over. “Delivery for you, Judy. Or an invasion. Hard to tell these days.”
“Fuck the delivery,” Judy moaned.
Stacy smirked and padded, naked and unselfconscious, to the front door. She peered through the security feed, her smirk widening. She disengaged the locks and opened the door.
Mandy, Felicity, and Mai stood on the doorstep, looking like a band of slightly frantic art students. Mandy had her tech bag slung over one shoulder. Felicity clutched a tablet to her chest. Mai was trying to peer past Stacy into the condo.
“Aunt Judy in?” Mandy asked.
“She’s… occupied,” Stacy said, stepping aside. “Come in. You look like you’re about to rob a gallery.”
“Close,” Felicity mumbled, following Stacy inside. “We need to borrow clothes. From Judy’s closet. To look… richer. For the appointment.”
They heard it then—the unmistakable sound of skin on skin, Judy’s choked cry of “Don’t you dare stop!”, Rick’s guttural groan.
The three young women froze in the pristine living room. Mai’s face lit up with delight. Felicity’s blush spread from her cheeks to her chest. Mandy just shook her head, a wry smile playing on her lips.
“Sounds like the consultation’s still in session,” Stacy said, leading them towards the master suite. The door was ajar.
Inside, the scene was obscenely beautiful in the morning light. Judy was on all fours, her back arched profoundly, her head thrown back. Rick knelt behind her, driving into her with focused intensity, his muscles corded with the effort. Judy’s perfect, manicured hands were fisted in the sheets.
Stacy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. She caught Mandy’s eye, her gaze dropping to the obvious bulge in Mandy’s jeans, then back up. “Mission’s in an hour. You look wound tight, Bug. Want to join? Loosen up the springs before you go play spy?”
Mandy met Stacy’s challenging stare. A silent understanding passed between them—the bodyguard, the hacker, both keyed up for a fight. Mandy closed the distance, grabbed the back of Stacy’s neck, and pulled her into a hard, deep kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, a spark of violent need.
While they kissed, Mai and Felicity didn’t hesitate. They shed their clothes in a hurry, joining the tangle on the bed. Mai crawled in front of Judy, offering her breasts to Judy’s hungry mouth. Felicity, shyer but determined, positioned herself beside Rick, her small hand wrapping around his shaft alongside Judy’s clutching cunt, stroking the base where he slid in and out.
“Fuck, Flick,” Rick gasped, the added sensation pushing him closer.
“He really does put the ‘big’ in ‘big brother,’ doesn’t he?” Mandy said, breaking the kiss with Stacy, her voice ragged.
Stacy’s answer was to spin Mandy around and push her down over the edge of the mattress. She yanked Mandy’s jeans and panties down to her knees in one rough motion. Stacy’s fingers, calloused and strong, found Mandy’s slit, already soaking wet, and pushed two inside without ceremony. Mandy cried out, bucking against the hand.
Then Stacy’s other hand, spit-slicked, pressed a single finger firmly against Mandy’s tight back entrance. She pushed, slowly, inexorably, working the tip of her finger past the resistant ring of muscle.
Mandy screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of shock and intense pleasure as Stacy’s finger slid all the way up her ass. The dual penetration, the voyeuristic thrill, the anchor in her mind humming a neutral tone—it all coalesced into a lightning strike of sensation.
The bed was a symphony of grunts and slaps and pleading. Rick was losing his rhythm, his thrusts becoming jerky, frantic.
“I’m gonna come!” he warned.
“Do it!” Judy commanded, seizing up around him. “Fill your aunt up, you beautiful boy!”
With a shout that was part sob, Rick obeyed, slamming home and holding there as he emptied himself inside her in hot, pulsing jets. Judy climaxed with him, her body clenching and shuddering, milked dry by his spasms.
Felicity, feeling him throb in her hand, pressed her own soaked cunt against his thigh, rubbing furiously until she came with a sharp, silent gasp, her body trembling.
Mai, watching it all, simply guided Judy’s mouth down to her own wetness, and Judy, blissed out and greedy, licked and sucked until Mai ground her hips against Judy’s face, finding her own sharp, shuddering release.
Stacy, pumping her fingers in and out of Mandy’s ass and pussy, felt Mandy’s inner muscles clamp down in a vicious, rolling orgasm. She rode it out, then slowly withdrew, leaving Mandy collapsed and trembling over the bed.
For a minute, there was only the sound of heavy breathing. The smell of sex, salty and musky, dominated the room’s sterile lemon scent.
“Okay,” Mandy panted, pushing herself up on shaky arms. “Clothes. Now. Before I lose the nerve to leave this orgy.”
Judy, disengaging with a wet, soft sound, rolled onto her back, a beatific smile on her face. “Closet. Everything’s organized by color and occasion. Take whatever. Just… maybe not the vintage Chanel. It’s dry-clean only.”
Back at the beach house, a different kind of morning energy was unfolding. Casey, sipping coffee in the kitchen, heard it. A rhythmic thumping, a feminine cry that was distinctly not her daughter’s. It was coming from down the hall, from the room Ben used when he stayed over.
She set her mug down and padded softly to the doorway, which was slightly ajar.
Inside, the sight was both unexpected and utterly predictable. Ben was on his back on the bed, his body slick with sweat. Straddling him, riding him with a fierce, graceful intensity, was Calista. Her long, silver hair flowed like a waterfall down her bare back, her elfin features were set in focused ecstasy. Her slim, powerful hips pistonned up and down, taking Ben’s considerable length deep inside her with every drop.
“Oh god… yes, right there, Ben, fuck…” Calista chanted, her voice a melodic gasp.
Ben’s hands gripped her thighs, his head thrown back, his expression one of overwhelming bliss.
Casey leaned against the doorframe, cleared her throat.
Calista’s eyes flew open, but she didn’t stop moving. If anything, she ground down harder, making Ben groan. “Mom,” Calista breathed, a smile touching her lips. “Good morning.”
“Morning, sunshine,” Casey said, her tone dry. “Mandy know her boyfriend is currently… assisting with your cardio?”
“It was Mandy’s idea,” Calista said, rolling her hips in a slow, delicious circle. “She said Ben was too… pent up. She asked me to… help him focus.”
Casey blinked, then laughed softly. “Of course she did.” She watched for another moment, the raw, beautiful mechanics of it. “Carry on, then. Don’t let me interrupt. I’m just going to check on your father in the shower.”
Calista’s perfect composure cracked into a grimace. “That is significantly more information than I wanted while I’m full of my sister's boyfriend’s cock.”
Casey winked and pulled the door shut softly.
Back in Judy’s condo, the mood had shifted to mission-ready. Mandy, Felicity, and Mai emerged from the walk-in closet transformed. Mandy wore a sleek, black asymmetrical dress that cost more than her entire van. Felicity was in a demure but clearly expensive cream-colored pantsuit that made her look like a young CEO. Mai had chosen a daring emerald green cocktail dress that clung to every curve, perfect for a decadent brunch.
They looked like money. They looked like marks.
Stacy, now dressed in her own tactical leggings and tank top, handed Mandy a small, ceramic earring. “Subdermal comms. Better than anything you’ve built. Taps directly into the auditory nerve. No one can eavesdrop. Bruce and Ben are on the channel. Jeeves is synced.”
Mandy fitted it into her ear. It warmed and seemed to melt into place. “Thanks.”
Rick, wrapped in a sheet, handed Felicity a small, ornate compact from Judy’s vanity. “It’s a scrying mirror. Aunt Jan's design, Green Moon magic. If you get a glimpse of their client log, just flash this at it. It’ll capture the page. Don’t get caught.”
Felicity nodded, tucking it into her clutch.
Judy, sipping water from the bed, looked at them all with a sharp, professional eye. “The Palm & Eye. I’ve heard of them. They launder more than money. They launder reality. Be careful. They didn’t get that discreet by being stupid.”
“We’re not being careful,” Mandy said, checking her reflection. The anchor in her mind was a quiet, cold stone. “We’re being rich, bored, and curious. That’s a different thing entirely.”
She looked at her team. Felicity, nervous but resolute. Mai, vibrating with excited danger. In her ear, she heard Ben’s steady breathing and, faintly, Calista’s satisfied sigh.
“Let’s go shopping,” Mandy said, and led the way out.
“Let’s go shopping,” Mandy said, and led the way out. She paused with her hand on the condo’s sleek door, the morning heat already wafting in from the hallway. She turned back, looking at the three of them draped in various states of undress and satisfaction.
“Actually, a favor,” Mandy said, her tone shifting to business. “Keep my parents busy. Mike and Casey. Out of the loop, out of the neighborhood.”
Judy propped herself up on her elbows. “Worried they’ll mother-hen your heist?”
“After Beth’s hospital stay, they’ll be helicopters.” Mandy shook her head. “They’ll mean well, but they’ll hover. And they’re weirdly good at accidentally screwing up a plan by asking the wrong person the right question at the worst time.”
Stacy barked a short laugh, pulling on a boot. “The plan will probably get screwed up on its own, Bug. But fine. We’ll run interference.”
Judy’s smile turned wicked. “Do you want them distracted with or without pants? I have options.”
Rick, who was pulling on his jeans, flushed deeply. “Aunt Judy.”
Mandy smirked. “Your call. Just keep them occupied for the day.”
“I’m moving here,” Stacy said, lacing her boot with efficient tugs. “Judy’s my new financial advisor. We could use a house-hunting venture. Mike and Casey would love to give opinions. They’re nosy like that. Afterward, we can do things without pants.”
Judy’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. “I do know some spectacular waterfront properties with very soundproof master suites. I like this idea.”
“I should maybe go check on Beth,” Rick murmured, his concern for his sister cutting through the post-coital haze.
“You’re coming house-hunting,” Stacy stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We need a male opinion on closet space and garage workshop potential. Beth is with Shiv and Marty. She’s safe.”
Mandy nodded, satisfied. “Perfect.” She pulled out her phone as she left, the door clicking shut behind her. She dialed Ben, hearing his breathless “Yeah?” on the second ring. Sounds of movement, a faint feminine sigh in the background. Calista.
“Finish up,” Mandy said, no judgment in her voice. “Grab Calista. Meet us at the usual spot in twenty. We might need her… diplomatic presence.”
“Is that code for elf-glamour?” Ben asked, his voice strained.
“It’s code for don’t be late,” Mandy replied, and ended the call.
One block from the Palm & Eye’s supposed location in the Design District, Bruce’s repair van was idling in a loading zone, its sides reading ‘Mystic Gear & Gadgetry’ in peeling gilt letters. The interior was a nest of wires, screens, and dormant enchantments.
Ben and Bruce were in the front, a bank of monitors flickering to life. Jeeves hovered between them, its mechanical arms retracted, a silent blue eye. In the back, Calista sat perfectly poised on a equipment crate. She wore a severe, knee-length gray skirt and a white blouse, her transcendent silver hair ruthlessly pinned back in a tight bun. A pair of non-prescription horn-rimmed glasses sat on her delicate nose, completing the illusion of an overworked, slightly intimidated executive assistant.
She looked nothing like an ethereal half-elf model. She looked like someone who worried about toner quotas.
Mandy, Felicity, and Mai slipped into the van’s side door. The sight of Calista made Mai snort. “Bloody hell, you look miserable. It’s perfect.”
“Thank you,” Calista said, her voice flat and professional, a mask over her usual melodic tone. “I have prepared the client brief as you requested, Ms. Harata. The projected budget and itemized list of desired mystical dampeners for deep-trench exploration.”
She handed Mai a forged document on expensive parchment. It looked and smelled centuries old.
Ben turned in the driver’s seat, his eyes scanning Mandy. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” she said, adjusting the strap of her tech bag, now disguised as a designer purse. “You two good? Earpieces in?”
Bruce tapped his own ear. “We’re live. Jeeves is synced to all local feeds and thaumic registers. If the power so much as flickers funny inside, we’ll know.”
“And if things go bad?” Felicity asked, her knuckles white on her clutch.
Ben’s smile was all teeth. “Then we come running. And Bruce brings the wrench.”
“Let’s not have that,” Mai said, squaring her shoulders. She was in charge now. The celebrity. The bait. “Ready, team?”
Mandy gave a tight nod. Felicity adjusted her pantsuit jacket. Calista picked up a sleek tablet, holding it like a shield.
They exited the van and walked the last block. The street was a curated gallery of minimalist storefronts selling impossible furniture and unmarked perfumes. According to the address, the Palm & Eye should have been between a vegan smoothie bar and a crystal shop. There was only a blank, white marble wall.
Mai didn’t hesitate. She strode directly towards it, her heels clicking with authoritative purpose. Mandy, Felicity, and Calista followed a step behind, a perfect entourage.
As Mai’s shadow fell across the marble, the air rippled. The wall didn’t dissolve, but it acquired a door. It was an elegant, recessed slab of dark heartwood, inlaid with a single, complex symbol: an open palm with an eye in its center. It had always been there. They just hadn’t been allowed to see it until now.
“Showtime,” Mai whispered, and reached for the polished brass handle.
The handle was cold. It turned without a sound. The door swung inward on perfect hinges, revealing not a shop, but a sliver of calculated void.
They stepped across the threshold. The door sealed behind them with a final, soft click. Absolute silence descended, thick and velvety, swallowing the distant city hum.
The space was a gallery of shadows and isolated light. Glass cases, floating unsupported, glowed from within. Each contained a single artifact: a feather that dripped liquid shadow, a orb containing a miniature storm, a knife that seemed to breathe. The air smelled of ozone, old parchment, and a faint, coppery hint of blood.
A man stood beside a case holding a petrified heart. He was ageless, dressed in a suit that absorbed the light. His smile was a polite, empty curve.
“Ms. Harata,” he said. His voice was smooth, without accent or affect. “Lysander. We are pleased to welcome you. Your reputation precedes you.”
Mai extended a hand, her smile brilliant and false. “Your discretion precedes you. My associates,” she said, gesturing carelessly behind her. “My technical advisor, Amanda. My archivist, Felicity. My assistant, Claire.”
Lysander’s eyes touched each of them. They felt like insects being pinned to a board. They lingered on Calista for a heartbeat too long. “Of course. The deep-trench explorer. A novel and perilous pursuit. Your brief was… intriguing.”
He turned, expecting them to follow. They moved into the room. Felicity’s breath was shallow; Mandy could hear it over the thrum of her own pulse. The anchor in her mind was still, a watchful stone.
“Your proposed budget is substantial,” Lysander continued, stopping before a case holding a twist of coral that pulsed with sickly green light. “The abyssal planes are fraught with perceptual hazards. The protections you seek are complex. Rare.”
“Rarity is the point,” Mai said, her tone breezy. She trailed a finger down the cool glass of the case. “I can’t very well be the first to document a leviathan if my own mind gets unspooled by the background murmur of dead gods, can I?”
Mandy let her eyes wander, disinterested. She saw the terminal. It was an anachronism: a sleek, black data-slate on a carved obsidian podium, tucked into an alcove. Its surface was dark. No visible ports. No keyboard.
“The murmur is a recognized phenomenon,” Felicity blurted, then clamped her mouth shut. Her mother’s textbook phrases had escaped.
Lysander turned his hollow smile on her. “You are familiar with Winkle’s Taxonomy of Non-Euclidean Psychic Echoes? An… adequate primer.”
Felicity’s blush was immediate. “It’s… foundational.”
“Indeed.” He turned back to Mai. “The components for such shielding require procurement. They are not kept on premises. We are a consultation firm, not a warehouse.”
“Understood,” Mai said, flipping her hair. “But I’d need to see certifications. Provenance. I’m not dripping money on something that might have been stripped from a screaming cultist. Bad for the brand.”
Mandy drifted toward the alcove. Casually. She pretended to examine a vase that wept black tears onto the floor. Her thumb stroked the hidden activator in her purse.
Bruce’s voice was a filament in her ear. “Thaumic shielding around that slate is dense. It’s a fortress. Jeeves is mapping the firewall. It’s… organic. Part of the building’s life-force.”
Ben’s voice, tighter. “How long?”
“Unknown. Don’t touch it yet.”
Lysander was leading Mai toward the back, where a heavy curtain of beads separated the galleries. “I have some initial diagrams. The core component is a stabilized piece of a Dreamer’s skull. The provenance is immaculate.”
Mai followed. Felicity, panicking, moved to follow. Calista’s hand, firm and cool, caught her elbow.
“A moment, Ms. Winkle,” Calista said, her assistant-voice clipped. “We require a detailed condition report on the skull fragment. For our insurance vault. The standard liability waiver is insufficient for psionically-active remains.”
She guided Felicity toward a different case, pulling a tablet from her bag, creating a diversion. It was flawless. Mandy used the second of fractured attention.
She leaned against the obsidian podium, as if bored. She let her purse spill open onto its surface. A single, matte-black drive, smaller than a fingernail, slipped out. It quivered, sprouting hair-fine metallic cilia that quested across the slate’s surface, seeking a ingress point.
The slate remained dark. The cilia probed uselessly.
“It’s not a digital system,” Bruce hissed in her ear. “It’s a synaptic recorder. The data’s stored in crystallized memory-engrams. You need a psychic interface.”
Mandy’s blood went cold. She couldn’t do that. The anchor was a wall. Her own psychic signature was compromised.
From the bead curtain, Lysander’s voice carried. “Your assistant is quite thorough.”
“She’s a bore,” Mai laughed, too loud. “But necessary. The paperwork people are always bores.”
Mandy’s mind raced. The compact. Felicity had the scrying mirror. It was Green Moon tech, psychic by nature. It could capture a page. It couldn’t search a database.
She needed to trigger the slate. She needed it to display something.
“Felicity,” Mandy said aloud, her voice calm. “The vendor list for the abyssal-grade lunar silver. From the brief. Check if they have the proper export licenses from the Silvered Citadel.”
It was a gamble. A specific query.
Felicity, understanding flashed in her wide eyes, turned from Calista. “Of-of course.” She approached the podium, her movements stiff. She opened her clutch, pulling out the ornate compact. “I’ll just need to cross-reference…”
Lysander glided back into the room. His empty eyes were on the compact in Felicity’s trembling hands. “That will not be necessary. Our records are private. The Citadel’s permissions are implicit in our possession.”
Mandy’s drive retracted its cilia, lying inert. Felicity’s hand froze.
“Claire,” Mai snapped, her voice cutting the tension. “Give the man the bloody insurance form. Let him see what he’s dealing with. I don’t have all day.”
Calista stepped forward, tablet extended. Lysander’s attention shifted, divided.
In that sliver of a moment, Mandy did the only thing she could. She reached out with her bare hand and placed her palm flat on the cold surface of the slate.
She thought of Howard. She thought of the gremlins, of the story about the small penis, of Beth’s blue lips in the hospital. She funneled a spike of pure, directed anger through the anchor, using it not as a receiver, but as a crude projector.
The slate lit up. A shimmering, three-dimensional ledger of names and codes flickered to life above it. Felicity gasped, fumbled with the compact, and snapped it open, reflecting the holographic display.
Lysander whirled. His polite mask dissolved. His face was a cold, blank plate of fury. “You.”
The lights in the shop dimmed. The artifacts in their cases began to vibrate. A low, psychic hum filled the air, pressing against their temples.
Mandy jerked her hand back. The display vanished. The drive was still on the podium. “We’re leaving,” she said.
“You are not,” Lysander said. The bead curtain behind him stirred. Two figures emerged. They were androgynous, tall, and moved with a silent, jointless grace. Their eyes were solid pools of obsidian.
Ben’s voice exploded in her ear. “We’re coming in!”
“Don’t!” Mandy barked, but the comms fizzed into static. The shop’s shielding had activated. They were cut off.
The two figures advanced. Calista pushed Felicity behind her. Her glamour flickered, the tight bun loosening, a strand of radiant silver hair escaping.
Lysander looked at it. His hollow smile returned. “A half-elf. A novelty. The client list is the least of what you will yield today.”
The nearest figure reached for Calista. Its hand was long-fingered, cold.
Mai moved. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the closest display case—the one with the weeping vase—and with a strength borne of adrenaline and deep-sea training, hurled it at Lysander.
It didn’t hit him. It shattered against an invisible barrier an inch from his face. Black tears and porcelain shards cascaded to the floor.
But the distraction was enough. Mandy scooped up her dormant drive. Felicity clutched the closed compact to her chest. Calista’s hands began to glow with a faint, orange heat.
“The door,” Mai yelled.They ran. The graceful figures pursued, their speed unreal. The elegant shop warped around them. The door seemed to stretch farther away, the space elongating.
Mandy felt a cold hand brush her shoulder. A bolt of eldritch fire, barely more than a spark, shot from Calista’s fingertips and scorched the marble floor at the thing’s feet. It flinched.
They reached the door. Mai hauled on the handle. It didn’t move. “It’s locked!”
“Obviously!” Mandy slammed her palm against the heartwood. It was warm, like living flesh.
The psychic hum intensified, becoming a drill-bit inside their skulls. Felicity cried out, dropping to her knees. The compact clattered on the floor.
Lysander walked toward them, slowly. “You came to steal secrets. You will leave as inventory.”
Outside, the white marble wall shuddered. A sound like twisting metal screamed from the other side. A crack, thin and bright, split the blank façade from top to bottom.
The door in front of them exploded inward.
Splintered heartwood and brass shrapnel filled the air. Framed in the shattered opening, backlit by Miami’s harsh sun, was Bruce. He held his massive, steam-venting wrench like a battering ram. Ben was beside him, a stun-gun crackling in one hand, his other wrapped in glowing, hastily-drawn kinetic brass knuckles.
“Customer service complaint!” Bruce roared, his Scottish accent thickening with rage. “Your door’s a fucking fire hazard!”
Lysander’s composure finally broke. His mouth opened in silent outrage. The two advancing figures halted, thrown by the violent intrusion of the mundane world.
“Now!” Mandy yelled.
She grabbed Felicity. Mai kicked the fallen compact toward Calista, who snatched it up. They stumbled through the wreckage into the blinding light and heat of the alley. Bruce swung his wrench in a wide, warning arc, keeping the figures back, then backed out after them.
Ben didn’t follow immediately. He stared at Lysander, at the shifting shadows behind him. He raised his energized fist. “You touch my girls again,” he said, his voice low and shaking with a fury Mandy had never heard, “and I won’t use the non-lethal setting.”
Then he turned and ran.
They sprinted down the alley, a chaotic, desperate group. The van screeched to a halt at the alley’s mouth, side door sliding open. They piled in, a tangle of expensive clothes and terror.
“Go! Go! Go!” Mai screamed.
Bruce wrenched the wheel, and the van lurched into traffic, horns blaring. Mandy, sprawled on the floor, looked back. The smooth marble wall of the Palm & Eye was whole again. No crack. No door. Just a blank, indifferent facade.
But in her hand, the black drive was warm. And in Felicity’s death-grip, the compact was hotter still.
The shop had been entered. The secrets, perhaps, had been taken.
For a long minute, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the van’s desperate engine. Ben crouched next to Mandy, his hands checking her for injuries, his face pale. “Your shoulder. That thing touched you.”
“I’m fine,” she said, though her skin crawled where the cold fingers had brushed. The anchor hummed, a neutral, diagnostic tone. It had felt the touch too. “Calista? Flick?”
“I am unharmed,” Calista said, her glamour restored, but her hands were trembling.
Felicity just held the compact, rocking slightly. “I got it. I think I got the page.”
Mandy finally looked at Mai, who was grinning wildly, her dress torn, a smear of soot on her cheek. “You threw a million-dollar artifact at his head.”
“It was ugly anyway,” Mai panted, her English accent sharp. “Did we win?”
Mandy leaned back against the van’s rattling wall. The adrenaline crash left her hollow and buzzing. The drive was warm. The compact was hot. Lysander’s blank, furious face was etched behind her eyes.
“We pissed them off,” Mandy said, closing her own eyes. “And we got a receipt. So yeah. For now, we won.”