The soft crunch of snow underfoot was lost beneath the rhythmic hiss and hum of the city. Neon signs cast flickering reflections on frosted glass; plumes of breath mixed with the hazy glow of corner store lights. Dahlia Valence adjusted the lapel of her cobalt blue trench coat—a newer, more utilitarian look, layered with a sleek silver scarf that fluttered when the winter breeze teased her. The tailored trench cinched her slim waist, and matching high-waisted wool trousers concealed her toned legs. Simplicity was not in her fashion vocabulary, not tonight. Below, crimson heeled boots peeked from the hem of her pants, serving as both armor and punctuation to her aura of unshakable confidence. Her raven-black hair, loosely styled in a side-swept twist, contrasted her piercing luminous gray-blue eyes. Subtle hoop earrings caught the occasional gleam of reflected headlights as she tucked her hands deep into her polished gloves. She was a shadow among the feverishly alive crowd, waiting for her moment.
She had been watching him for over an hour. The mark, a wiry man clutching a half-empty briefcase, emerged from the corner café. He wore his nerves like a second coat, glancing over his shoulder every five steps. Her intel had been correct: this jumpy, briefcase-clutching “consultant” was the key to her employer’s next score. Dahlia, however, wasn’t interested in the encrypted files allegedly housed inside. Her interest was purely transactional; he’d been careless once before, and she was here to ensure he wouldn’t be again. Tonight was about retrieving something far larger than corporate secrets.
“Kite to Watchtower,” she muttered into her concealed comms device, the words soft enough to dissolve into the background noise.
“Clear skies,” the voice crackled in her ear. It was Asa—her tech-savvy partner-in-crime who specialized in overwatch. “He’s heading for Blackline Alley. If you’re going to intercept, now’s the time.”
Her gloved fingers flexed reflexively as she sidestepped a family dragging home a fresh-cut pine tree, its spicy scent cutting through the pollution-heavy air. Dahlia slipped into the alley two blocks ahead of the mark’s trajectory, her razor-sharp instincts guiding her through the maze-like terrain of urban shadows. Her figure blended with the sparsity of street lights, her outfit made for missions as much as magazines. She paused long enough to tilt her face upward, letting faint specks of falling snow land and melt against her skin—a small reprieve before the impending storm.
When the mark finally approached, he was too focused on his wandering paranoia to notice her until it was too late. One fluid motion—a pivot, a shoulder bump—and the briefcase was severed from his white-knuckled grip. He gasped, spinning to locate the thief, but she was already moving through a labyrinth of confusing turns.
“Nice lift,” Asa’s voice quipped in her ear. “You’re making this look way too easy. Starting to think I need a new career.”
Her laughter came out like warm honey, almost melting the tension. “You forget I’ve got years on you, darling.” She ducked behind a dumpster as the mark’s frantic footsteps passed her hiding spot. She opened the case and let her breath catch; there it was.
A diamond? No. A microdrive? Not quite. Tucked inside a protective cloth bundle was an opalescent orb, no larger than a tennis ball but containing swirling clouds of brilliant metallic ribbons that seemed to glow and pulse with faint life of their own.
She reached out but stopped short. “Asa,” she said, her voice tinged with something that sounded like unease. “What the hell is this thing? It wasn’t in the dossier.”
“Hold on, scanning now,” Asa replied. Dahlia heard keys clacking in furious rhythm over the comms. Meter-long seconds ticked by.
Suddenly, Asa’s tone dropped an octave. “Uh, you need to ditch it. Like, yesterday.”
“That bad?”
“The ‘this-thing-could-erupt-like-a-mini-star’ bad,” Asa growled. “Get. Rid. Of. It.”
Dahlia’s breath clouded the icy air as a deep hum began to emanate from the orb, faint vibrations tickling her wrists through the gloves. No sooner had she begun zipping the briefcase shut than the mark appeared ahead of her, his face twisted with desperation.
“Not so fast,” he hissed, aiming a small stun pistol her way. “You’ve no idea what you’re carrying, do you?”
“Enlighten me.” Dahlia’s tone was razor-sharp, her body ready to react at the slightest twitch.
“That’s not just cargo. That’s—” Before he could finish, a deafening whir filled the alley, followed by a brilliant flash. The air seemed to compress before snapping into unnatural quiet. Both Dahlia and the mark were thrown backward, the orb now floating mid-air, contained in an iridescent halo that glimmered with strange symbols.
Searing pain shot up Dahlia’s arm as her platinum bracelet, infused with encrypted tech from Asa, flared red-hot before shutting down entirely. Her comms device fizzled with static. She scrambled to her feet, nearly toppling over with vertigo, and realized the orb was gone. One thing was clear: this job had just turned from a simple heist into a cosmic-level conspiracy.
“Kite,” Asa whispered faintly through static. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Dahlia dusted snow off her trench and gritted her teeth. “Try me.”
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