Ethan:

  The cathedral bells were chiming midnight.

  Perfect timing.

  St. Savien’s loomed like an apology to God — Gothic arches, stained glass that caught moonlight like secrets, and silence thick as velvet. But beneath it?

  The real religion lived.

  Steel. Surveillance. Secrets buried six floors underground in a vault disguised as a sanctuary for relics.

  Celeste and I walked in like pilgrims.

  Not in disguise — not really.

  We wore black.

  Sleek. Elegant. Formal enough to pass as diplomatic security detail, too clean to look like hired muscle. Her heels didn’t make a sound. My gloves were stitched with carbon mesh. We moved together like dancers — too casual to be a threat.

  But every step was loaded.

  And we had ten minutes to reach the vault before the schedule changed.

  Celeste:

  Renwick’s routine was painfully fragile.

  Midnight prayers.

  One bodyguard. No tech crew.

  A digital key card implanted in the inner lining of his jacket.

  A retinal scan that required him to blink in sequence.

  And a biometric reader that could only be triggered while his cortisol levels stayed under stress threshold.

  Which is to say — if he got scared, the system froze.

  And if it froze, the vault sealed permanently.

  Vincent called it a psychological safe.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I called it an opportunity.

  We reached the back of the cathedral just as Renwick lit the ceremonial candles beside the altar.

  He didn’t see me until I was beside him.

  Ethan:

  “Beautiful night,” I said casually, standing to his right.

  He turned, startled, blinking behind his spectacles.

  “Can I help—?”

  Celeste stepped from the other side of the shadows.

  “Yes,” she said. “You can blink.”

  Renwick’s eyes went wide.

  Too wide.

  I held up a small sensor device — biometric calibrator — synced to his pulse.

  “Easy,” I murmured, stepping in close. “Deep breath.”

  He took one. I watched the cortisol reading hover just below the threshold. His heart was pounding, but not too hard. Not yet.

  “You’re going to help us open your vault, Renwick.”

  He opened his mouth to protest.

  Celeste gently pressed the tip of her blade to his side — just enough for pressure.

  “Blink,” she said.

  And he did.

  The scan accepted.

  Celeste:

  The elevator was hidden behind the altar — how poetic.

  It descended slower than I liked. The lights inside flickered like a funeral home.

  Renwick stood between us, hands shaking.

  I rested my hand on his shoulder.

  “Smile,” I whispered. “There are cameras.”

  He did.

  God, it was awful.

  We reached sublevel six.

  Steel doors thicker than most bunkers.

  A biometric pad. A retinal scanner. A full vocal authentication.

  Ethan handled it all.

  Renwick was a trembling marionette, blinking, nodding, whispering into the mic.

  Ethan held his wrist to the blood reader. Pressed his finger to the DNA pad. All precise. Surgical.

  When the vault hissed open, I actually felt it.

  That rush.

  That power.

  Inside, it was clinically cold. Rows of security boxes. Black mirrors. And in the center—

  A single locked pedestal under glass.

  A black USB.

  Unlabeled.

  Untraceable.

  Untouchable.

  Ethan:

  I moved to it like I already owned it.

  Unlocked the case.

  Slipped on the gloves.

  Lifted it free.

  It was light. Too light.

  But the weight it carried was obvious.

  Power.

  Control.

  Insurance.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Celeste nodded.

  But Renwick?

  He stepped back.

  “Wait,” he stammered. “You said you wouldn’t—”

  Celeste looked at him.

  Expression unreadable.

  “I said nothing,” she replied. “That was your mistake.”

  He went pale.

  Celeste:

  We didn’t kill him.

  That would’ve been sloppy.

  We injected a memory eraser — fast-acting, short-term disruption, enough to scramble the past hour. He’d wake up in the pews upstairs with a vague headache and a confused security team.

  By then, we’d be gone.

  And the file?

  Ours.

  We disappeared into the night through the underground passage beneath the east chapel.

  No alarms.

  No witnesses.

  Just two shadows carrying a weapon disguised as data.

  Ethan:

  In the car, speeding through empty streets lit only by sodium lamps and guilt, I looked over at her.

  She was holding the USB like a lighter.

  “Do you want to see what’s on it?” I asked.

  Celeste smiled without looking at me.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  She finally turned to me.

  “Because the unknown is still ours. The moment we open it, we’re responsible. Right now? We’re just legends.”

  I kissed her knuckles.

  The city burned quietly behind us.