Chapter 195: Midnight Theft III
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The twins did not waste even a second on questions.
They turned at once.
Sekhmet moved on. He did not wake Bat Bat.
Not yet.
Bat Bat was useful in a fight and a disaster in a stealth response. He needed discipline first, not chaos in child form sprinting through the house screaming about war.
He returned to his room, grabbed the communicating stone again, and called Raka.
The reply came faster than usual.
"Master."
"Move," Sekhmet said. "Now. Bring your men. The Dawn auction house is under active infiltration by Dickon Iron and over fifty fighters. I want your people around the outer routes immediately. No public shouting. No city-wide noise. Surround the auction house quietly."
Raka did not hesitate.
"Yes, master."
Sekhmet continued.
"You do not engage until I say or unless they try to flee with stolen goods. Your priority is containment."
"Yes, master."
"Bring enough men to seal exits."
"Yes."
The stone dimmed.
Sekhmet set it down and took one long breath. His mind was clear now.
Too clear.
This was what happened when planning collided with real movement. All the vague possibilities of the past week had become one specific event with one specific enemy standing in his building.
A traitor manager.
A rival heir.
Fifty men.
A treasury.
He almost laughed.
The twins arrived then, dressed in dark fitted clothing, not formal wear, not house silk. Their expressions were calm and cold.
"Master," Vela said, "are we killing?"
Sekhmet’s eyes sharpened.
"Not unless necessary," he replied. "Tonight is about catching hands in the act."
Vera’s lips curved by a fraction.
"Then they chose a bad night."
Sekhmet almost approved the line aloud. Instead he turned and moved.
They left Dawn House through an internal route connecting to the auction structure’s upper service access. One of the benefits of owning the whole connected property was that he could move through walls the enemy did not know existed.
Meanwhile, Dickon and Reyan had reached the final corridor.
The treasury gate stood at the end of it, thick iron-bound wood layered over a reinforced frame. It was decorative in the way rich houses loved —gold trim, engraved lines, a crest stamped into the metal— but that decoration was only a mask.
The real protection was inside the door: locking runners that slid into the stone frame, layered pins, and a hidden release mechanism designed to require multiple actions in the correct order.
A door built for paranoia.
Reyan stood before it now.
The lamp flame in his hand trembled slightly.
Not because the corridor was cold.
Because betrayal always made the body betray the betrayer too.
Dickon noticed immediately.
"Nervous?" he asked, voice amused.
Reyan forced a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Only because timing matters, young master."
Dickon stepped closer, his tone lazy, his smile sharp enough to cut. "Then calm yourself. In one more minute, Dawn House loses its future."
Behind him, the fifty-plus intruders shifted.
Some were disciplined enough to stay silent.
Some were not.
You could smell their greed in the way they leaned forward, the way their hands flexed, the way their eyes kept flicking toward the door as if they could already see legendary light through stone.
One of the Chaos Rank Three escorts folded his arms and finally spoke.
"Open it. Open the door."
His voice was deep and bored, like he had done this kind of thing too many times to treat it as exciting.
Reyan nodded too quickly.
He lifted the ring of keys. They all can hear the sound, Clink!
The sound echoed softly off the corridor stone and returned like judgment.
Reyan tried to keep his fingers steady. He failed.
The first key entered the first lock.
Turn. Then there was a sound, Clack!
A metal pin slid back inside the frame. The second key entered the second lock.
Turn. The sound came, Thunk!
A heavier runner pulled away, deeper inside the door.
Then Reyan moved to the side panel and pressed his palm against a hidden plate. The plate warmed faintly and accepted his chaos energy signature, because the door was meant to recognize the manager.
That recognition now felt like betrayal written in the building’s own bones.
A final lever sat beneath the iron trim, disguised as decoration. Reyan hooked his fingers under it and pulled.
The mechanism inside the door shifted. It was grinding... it was sliding... it was unlocking...
The sound made the corridor feel smaller.
Dickon’s smile widened slowly.
He looked at Reyan like he was looking at a tool that had performed correctly.
"Good," he murmured. "You really are useful."
Reyan’s eyes flickered with relief and hunger. He liked praise too much.
That was why he deserved to be used.
Now.
While their attention stayed on the door, the real watchers stayed higher.
In the upper shadow of the corridor, tucked into a narrow service arch, Auri remained still as stone.
Her cloak blended into darkness. Her wings were folded tight under layered cloth. Her breathing was controlled. Her eyes did not blink often. She watched the entire formation from above, including the rank-three escorts, including the rank-two blades, including Dickon’s posture, including Reyan’s hands.
Several of Sekhmet’s bats clung to beams behind her, silent and obedient. They did not attack. They did not panic. They simply watched and waited.
Auri’s fingers rested lightly on a concealed knife — not because she planned to strike, but because if something went wrong, she would not need to search for a weapon.
Her role was to see. Her role was to measure. Her role was to hold until the master arrived.
And the master was moving now.
Above, Sekhmet and the twins slipped through the internal service route that connected Dawn House’s secured passage to the auction building’s upper maintenance corridor.
The route existed for exactly this kind of situation — quiet movement without street exposure. Dusty steps. Narrow doors. Old stone channels built when Dawn House was still powerful enough to fear assassins more than taxes.
Vera moved like a shadow.
Vela moved like a blade.