Page 59 of Heart of Thieves

“You’re a gem.” He throws me one of his signature Arden smiles as he runs carefully manicured fingers through his long, gelled hair. “Did you bring the cigars?”

“Of course.” I produce the box, a rare selection from the Zitinillo Onyx Collection—one of the priciest cigars in the world, worth several thousand plats apiece.

“Ah, perfect.” He slides it into his jacket pocket like it’s nothing special.

For Arden, it probably isn’t. He was born to a billionaire investor father and spent the entirety of his life before joining the Tentacles on lavish trips wearing luxurious clothing and rubbing shoulders with some of the most prominent people in the world. While Enzo loves fashion, Arden lives his life like he’s on a runway, which makes him the perfect smooth talker for all our high-profile cons.

“All right, you keep the receptionist occupied,” I say, going over the plan for the third time, “while I sneak through the back entrance.” I dig in my pocket for a handful of Jade’s voratium popper pebbles and drop them into his palm. “Just in case.”

“Oh, thank the skies.” He laughs. “Don’t get me wrong, I can throw a punch as well as Soren any day, but I did just get my nails done yesterday, so if I can avoid it . . .”

“I have some, too,” I say with a nervous smile. “If you hear them going off, that’ll be my signal I need your help.”

“Brilliant, as always.” He settles back in his seat as I adjust my jacket. “Also, that dress is stunning on you—purple is absolutely your color.”

A pair of violet eyes flash in my mind, but I force them away. “Thank you.”

“I said it the second I saw you in that gown on all the magazine covers after you won the tournament—you can ask Soren. I told him, ‘Purple was made for that girl.’”

I laugh. “I don’t know about that.”

“What was he like? The Liar, I mean,” he asks.

My smile fades. “About like he seems. Charming. Pompous.” I adjust my dress. “Sparkly.”

“The magazines said you two were involved. Romantically.” His eyes glitter teasingly. “Is that true?”

“He was”—I swallow, dread spreading through my veins— “impossible to resist in many ways. But Enzo has always been my first priority.” My tongue feels like lead. “I would never betray him like that.”

Arden sighs. “Shame he’s our archnemesis. He’s very pretty.”

“That he is.” I chuckle to hide my wince as the cab pulls to a stop in front of a tall, brick business building, one I’ve met my father in as Nocturne several times. St. James does a lot of deals with the traders who work here and even has his own classified office on the top floor. Arden tosses a handful of plats into the cabby’s outstretched hand, and we clamber onto the curb.

“Okay, I’m going to go poke around his office,” I say, glancing at my reflection in the window on the first floor to make sure the voratium disguise we stole from one of the costume shops is still altering my face enough to keep my father’s blokes from recognizing me. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”

“One moment too long, and I’ll come investigate.” He grins. “Try not to get hurt. I don’t think Enzo would forgive me.”

“It would be good for him.”

“Yes, but I might not survive it.” He blows me a kiss as I duck into the shadows.

My father sits at his desk, the window behind him overlooking the city. Waterside glitters on the horizon, casinos and cabarets blazing neon along the shoreline. The Liar’s Den is a black hole at its center, a dark smear even at midday.

I hold my breath as I creep forward even though he wouldn’t hear me in my bodiless state. He bends over ledgers of what appear to be voratium shipments, muttering under his breath. After a moment, he leans back in his chair, yawning so hard his jaw cracks, and I catch sight of the lines around his eyes and mouth. Lines I used to trace with my fingers when he’d tell me bedtime stories. They’ve deepened since then.

I remember how they used to crinkle when he’d laugh. I wonder how often he still does that.

Shaking those thoughts aside, I craft the illusion of Nocturne, bleeding it upward until it covers me completely.

“Magnus,” I say in Nocturne’s voice.

He lurches to his feet, yanking out his pistol. When he recognizes me, he lowers it slowly. “Nocturne,” he says, a little hoarse with what must have been a surge of adrenaline. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I trust you’ve heard about my game?” I keep Nocturne’s face impassive and her voice unperturbed even though the sight of my father pointing a gun at my face has sent my heart rate galloping.

“Of course.” He shoves his weapon back into his belt. “Is it for a purpose?”

“It’s a lure,” I tell him. “For the Thief.”