Page 49

G RACE’S ROLLING SUITCASE RATTLES ON THE FLOORBOARDS. I T’S THE only out-of-place component of our march down the castle hallways.

Otherwise, Grace, Jackson, and I look like ordinary teenagers up to nothing unusual. On our way to snowball fighting or sampling the liquor in the service kitchens or other inconspicuous occupations.

Not facing down a rival heist crew in the family’s world-class vault.

Abigail is standing guard when we cross the courtyard to reach the West Tower. “They just went in,” she says urgently. “I stalled as long as I could.”

I don’t delay. I rush past her, noticing the smashed lock on the tower.

Mia’s handiwork, no doubt. The staircase to the dungeons is steep, but it’s not long, not with the castle’s confined mountaintop dimensions.

It feels… smaller than it did when I was last trapped in here.

Behind me, I hear the thudding of Grace’s suitcase on the stone.

At the bottom of the steps, the air is frigid. Cobwebs drift from the ceiling. From the stones glistening with moisture, half-frozen rivulets of water run down the mortar. It’s clear this part of the castle has not been renovated—except for the vault.

Within the fortified slate stone walls, its doors gleam under the dim lights. They rise from the floor to the ceiling, with a thick circular handle in the center. The vault is massive, the silver mouth of a pitch-black monster.

In front of it—my adversaries.

Mia faces the vault in steely determination.

She’s dressed with understated flourish, her white-and-black ensemble the perfect intersection of simplicity, style, and insulation.

Of course she had her perfect heist outfit planned out.

Finn and Sofia flank her. Tom is in front of her, the hint of panic in his eyes.

Beside them, two men I don’t recognize kneel in front of the vault in durable work wear. They’re in the process of laying out heavy metal cases. I falter on the slick stones, registering their unexpected presence.

Mia hired outsiders.

With conflicted emotions, I remember my father’s crowing in his lesson. His recommendation to hire others as investments. I want to call Mia’s planning laziness or a corner-cutting risk, but my father’s “wisdom” won’t let me. What if cousin Mia is playing the game differently , not worse?

“Olivia,” Mia says, turning to face me. “Come to watch me beat you to everything you want?”

“Hardly.” I project confidence I don’t feel. The hired men are a problem. “Your plan is sloppy. I assume these men are here to carry the fortune out? You don’t think anyone will notice?”

“Watch and find out,” she replies, her smile coy. She motions to her crew.

In perfect coordination, they spring. One of the hired men grabs me and Abigail each by the arm, the other seizes Jackson. Sofia restrains Grace.

Finn grabs Tom.

Mia knows. She knows Tom is not on her side. She planned for exactly this.

I struggle against the grip of the man holding me, but he’s strong, his fingers bruising my elbow painfully.

Two teenage girls can’t overpower him. Finn looms high over Tom, a wall of muscle.

He looks ready to capture Grace if she wrestles out of Sofia’s grip.

Honestly, does Uncle Hammond have him on steroids?

Shaping him into the ultimate snow-polo machine?

“You can still switch to the winning side, babe,” Grace pleads, fighting Sofia in vain.

“Winning side?” Sofia repeats. “Which standoff are you watching?”

Mia walks in front of Tom, relishing her victory. “I had hoped you would join me. I thought, for a moment, you were close.”

Tom doesn’t struggle against Finn. His eyes lock with Mia’s. “For a moment, I was,” he replies.

Mia caresses his chin, her eyes mournful. “I enjoyed everything you gave me, Thomas. Even if it was an act.” She walks away from him, heading for the vault.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jackson. His captor stands close to the metal cases. Jackson moves fast, without warning—he pulls one arm free, landing an elbow in his captor’s gut. The hired man wheezes in pain, doubling forward. His grip on Jackson’s other arm doesn’t weaken, however.

My hopes fall… until I see what Jackson’s done.

He’s used the scuffle to position his feet near one of the metal cases. I recognize the stance from seeing him on the soccer field. He’s going to slam it backward, with all the strength his varsity athlete’s legs possess, into his assailant.

It’s courageous, cunning—and dangerous. I don’t want Jackson involved in physical fights. I don’t want him to get hurt. I mouth to him to stop, but he shakes his head, gesturing with his eyes to Mia, who is at the door now. She spins the dial methodically.

I see his plan clearly. When she opens the vault—when everyone is distracted—he’s going to break free. We could slam the door shut.

But to what end? We can’t overpower all the people in here. Mia’s hires have cost me everything, forced me to recognize that we’re just kids compared to the other players here.

Mia inputs the final number and pulls on the door—

It doesn’t budge.

The icy chill in the dungeon seems to freeze time itself. Everyone goes still, holding their breath.

“What the hell?” Mia mutters under her breath, trying the dial again.

I lock eyes with Abigail, not needing to speak to know we’re thinking the same thing. Did Dash give her the wrong number? Was this all a demonstration for us of what he could do if we don’t help him?

Mia inputs the combination once more. Pulls on the door. Nothing.

Suddenly, the men release us. They say something in very angry French to Mia. I’m too stunned by the locked vault to enjoy my new freedom, my mind overwhelmed with possibilities. Dash? Leonie? The ring?

“ Je ne sais pas ,” Mia replies.

I know enough French to understand that. I don’t know. The men she’s hired do not seem satisfied with this answer. She brought criminals into her home with the promise of riches.

Now that she can’t deliver, what will they do to her?

She seems to be wondering the same thing.

She continues speaking in French, the pace of her perfect intonation frantic.

The men don’t seem very keen to listen to her commands.

With Finn and Sofia following the escalating argument in front of them, it’s easy for Grace to pull free of Sofia. Tom tries to do the same—

“ Not you ,” Finn utters. I glance their way, startled to hear the quiet fury in the voice of my cousin who hardly ever speaks. It surprises Tom, too. “I told Mia you were trouble.”

Understanding settles on Tom’s expression. “To be fair, Mia is also trouble,” he counters.

Finn is not amused. He grips Tom harder in revenge for a week of playing his sister.

Pulling my attention, the hired men change focus.

Moving swiftly, they open one of the cases they’ve hauled down.

Of course. Instead of relying on a teen girl to deliver, they came with contingency plans of their own.

They unlock the latches, and in perfect synchrony, raise the lid of the metal container.

Inside is a high-power drill, metal shining menacingly under the lights. Its steel frame fills the case, requiring the pair of men to lift it out. It’s in pieces, which the men place on the dungeon stones to start assembling.

They’re drilling the vault. The fate of our heist may have had a moment’s reprieve when Mia’s code failed—but no longer.

If the men drill the door, our only hope is the one we entered the dungeon with.

They can’t detain us, distracted with their drill, which requires them both to heft and position the powerful mechanism.

What’s more, we have the element of surprise.

These men have no idea what waits in Grace’s suitcase.

If Grace can hit the relockers before they get through, we might have a chance to stop them.

Might. Drilling past relockers is doable, Grace said. The possibility keeps my heart hammering painfully. Nevertheless, it’s the only chance we have.

“Grace,” I say. “Now.” I catch Jackson’s eye—noticing him sizing up the men with a sharp look I don’t like on his features. “Wait,” I say to him indicatively, my voice low. “We’re doing what we came down here to do.”

Needing no encouragement, Grace grabs her suitcase. Kneeling in front of the Volenvell vault, she opens the lid.

The drill inside is the dangerous equal of Mia’s vault crackers’ machine.

Vacuum-based, lightweight, with a compressor used to suction the machine onto the vault wall.

Grace explained the mechanism when I sent her the money to purchase it.

It’s not in pieces, and it’s easier to lift, which Grace does, removing the shining complex of pipes and motors.

Still—what our enemies’ drill lacks in compactness, it might make up for in power. Drilling the vault to open it is more painstaking than drilling to damage it, but machinery might not be on our side.

“What is going on?” Finn asks tersely. His grip on Tom remains unforgiving.

“It will be fine,” Mia insists. “It’s under control.”

“You don’t look in control, cousin,” I say to Mia, mocking.

Her men can’t hold us off and use their drill, and they’ve decided to use their manpower on the vault.

Our crew is evenly matched with Mia’s. If I can win Finn and Sofia over, we’ll have the numbers.

“I guess my father didn’t give you the right combination?

I could have warned you not to put your faith in Dash.

Why don’t you consult with me next time? ”

Mia eyes me, probably running the same numbers game I just did. With urgency flashing over her perfect features, I’d guess she’s considering wrestling Grace herself.