I settled on the uncomfortable fact that right now, in this moment, the man before me was untouchable in every sense of the word.
He had power, resources, legal authority, enhanced guards, and apparently the tactical sense to strike at the exact moment when we were most vulnerable, most exposed, most convinced we’d actually managed to secure a future.
Just then, Oberen advanced with the leisurely certainty of a man who’d long ago decided time itself waited on his convenience.
When he reached me, his hand rose to cradle my jaw with a tenderness so exquisite it felt like a threat. His fingers were cool against my skin, unexpectedly soft, as they traced along my jawline with an almost possessive appreciation.
"Such delicate features," he murmured, "Such a beautifully feminine presentation wrapped around what I’m told is quite the capable mind. Truly, the rumors don’t do you justice. In person, you’re even more..." He paused, searching for the word. "...valuable. Yes, that’s it. Valuable. Not just in terms of monetary worth—but in terms of potential. What you could accomplish with proper guidance, proper resources, proper ownership."
His thumb brushed my lower lip in a gesture that made me briefly consider biting it on principle, before recalling—with admirable restraint—that provoking immediate retaliation from the Velvets still handling the gold would be tactically unsound.
"You’re wasted here," Oberen continued, his eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling intensity. "Playing at independence, serving a master who can barely keep a roof over your head, dreaming small dreams about small establishments in districts nobody cares about. You could be so much more under my patronage. I have connections throughout the Chambers, holdings in the Pantheon, influence that extends all the way to the Spire itself. Imagine what someone with your talents could achieve with access to those networks."
He smiled that terrible smile again. "Just something to consider. An open offer, really. When this little venture inevitably collapses—and it will, my dear, they always do—you’ll know where to find me. I take care of my assets."
I had absolutely no idea what to do—what to say, how to respond to this deeply uncomfortable sales pitch masquerading as casual conversation—so I did the only sensible thing available to me and said nothing at all. My jaw tightened against his touch while my thoughts raced ahead, testing responses that collapsed one after another into the same familiar pile of disastrous outcomes.
And then, slowly, an idea began to take shape. Terrible. Risky. The sort of plan that sends reasonable people fleeing in the opposite direction, shouting warnings of hubris and consequences.
But it was possible. Perhaps. If I played it flawlessly, and if luck—just this once—decided to stop treating me like a cautionary tale.
Oberen gave my cheek a soft pat then—patronizing, dismissive, the gesture of someone who’d made their point and was ready to move on.
The Velvets had finished their work, each one now carrying a stack of crates that would have reduced an ordinary human to a premonitory anecdote, yet which they bore with the effortless ease of strength so enhanced the concept of weight had become almost theoretical. They positioned themselves on either side of the door, waiting for their owner with patient professionalism.
Oberen turned toward the exit, already disengaging from the encounter as though it had been a minor diversion rather than the thorough liquidation of our financial future.
"Well!" he announced cheerfully, addressing the entire room now. "I believe our business here is concluded. The new rent has been collected, our arrangement has been clarified, and I’m quite satisfied with how this evening has progressed." He clasped his hands together with enthusiasm. "Julius, always a pleasure. I do hope you’ll maintain this property properly—would be such a shame if the condition deteriorated and I had to charge additional fees for damages."
He turned for the door, and his Velvets fell in behind him without prompting, crates stacked high and balanced with effortless precision, as though gravity were a polite suggestion they had collectively decided to ignore.
"Until next month, then. I’ll send someone to collect the rent thirty days from now. Do try to have it ready on time—punctuality is such an important virtue in business relationships."
And then he was gone, slipping into the night with our fortune in tow, the door sealing shut behind him with a finality that rang through the lobby like a death knell.
Silence followed, heavy and abrupt, settling over the space like something tangible.
Julius’s voice cracked with desperation, his words tumbling out in a rush. "What are we going to do? How do we—we can’t possibly earn nine thousand crowns in a month, that’s—even with Lloyd’s sponsorship we’d need clients we don’t have, time we don’t have—"
"Calm down," I interrupted, my voice cutting through his spiral with enough force to snap his attention back to the present. "Julius, just breathe. Look at me."
He looked up, his eyes wide and wet with tears that hadn’t quite fallen yet.
Brutus grumbled something inventive about wealthy parasites and the therapeutic value of violence, his eyes lingering on the door as though he were genuinely weighing the merits of pursuit against the many reasons that would end poorly.
Felix looked shaken, his pale face drained of what little color it usually claimed, hands gripping his own arms in a gesture that hovered somewhere between self-soothing and shock-induced paralysis.
Nara stood frozen, crimson eyes wide, her ears drooping in the unmistakable posture of someone whose mind had abruptly crashed and was still cycling through error messages.
And Willow—Willow had gone dark, her features twisting into an expression that blended fury with calculation, her emerald eyes burning with the kind of barely suppressed rage that promised violence if given even the slightest excuse.
I drew in a slow breath, filling my lungs with air that tasted of dust, cheap wine, and freshly acquired regrets, then let it out just as carefully, nudging my thoughts back into something resembling order.
"We’ll get our money back," I said simply.
Brutus’s expression tightened into something that hovered between concern and profound irritation at what he was clearly beginning to suspect was a delusion on my part.
"How?" he demanded. "You saw what just happened—he walked in, stripped us of nearly everything we had, and left again without breaking a sweat. The man’s untouchable."
I turned to face them fully then. "You’re right," I admitted. "He’s too powerful. At least in conventional terms. I can’t beat him with violence—those Velvets would kill me before I landed a punch, and I can’t beat him with influence—he’s got connections I can’t match." I paused, letting that sink in. "But there’s more than one way to beat someone. If I can’t win through normal channels, I just need to win through abnormal ones. And what better way than playing him at his own game?"
Willow’s eyes went wide with dawning realization. "You can’t possibly be thinking—"
"The casino," I confirmed, my lips curling into a smirk that felt almost genuine despite the terror churning in my gut. "Oberen runs a gambling den in the mid-section. High stakes, high risk, high reward. We go there, we play, and we take back what’s ours plus enough to cover everything else we need."
I turned to address everyone in the room, raising my voice so the crew members scattered around the lobby could hear. "Everyone get packed, we’re heading to the casino. Tonight. Right now."
Julius’s expression shifted—despair giving way to something that might’ve been hope, or might simply have been the frantic optimism of a drowning man offered a rope that was clearly too short, but still preferable to sinking quietly.
"You’re going to gamble for it?" he asked in disbelief. "Just... walk into his establishment and try to win back our money?"
"Not just win it back," I corrected, my mind already racing through possibilities. "Getting our money back only solves the immediate problem. Oberen would just come back with new schemes, new ways to extract payment, new threats to hold over our heads. No—I’m going to crush him completely. Take everything he values, destroy his reputation, make him regret ever walking into our theater."
The mood began to lift in small, telling ways—Nara’s ears inching upward as though hope required a trial run, Willow’s shadowed expression sharpening into something openly predatory, even Brutus’s skepticism easing into what might generously be called reluctant approval.
A few of the crew actually cheered, the sound rough but sincere, as if action itself were preferable to despair regardless of the odds attached.
Willow laughed—bright and just this side of unhinged. "I like it. Let’s go bankrupt a nobleman who thought he could fuck with us without consequences."
The crew scattered with renewed purpose—some peeling off to change clothes, others gathering supplies, Julius already unfolding maps and conferring with Brutus in low, urgent tones.
Meanwhile, I headed up to my room, taking the stairs two at a time, my mind already running through contingencies, backup plans, and the various ways this evening could go catastrophically wrong. When I reached my door I pushed through and made straight for the nightstand where I’d left Iskanda’s ruby.
I grabbed it, feeling the warmth pulse against my palm like a living heartbeat, and without hesitation shoved it deep into my boot.
Just in case.
Then I was back downstairs, rejoining the others in the lobby, standing in the center of the space and letting the full weight of what I was about to attempt settle onto my shoulders. This was either going to be the most brilliant move of my criminal career or the thing that got us all killed.
Possibly both.
I took a breath, centered myself, let the familiar rush of adrenaline and terror wash through my system, then thought with grim determination:
Well then, let’s go gambling.