The brass handle was cool beneath Bryony's fingers as she shut her office door. Ancient sigils flickered to life at her touch, their magic humming faintly through her palm. A centuries-old ward she'd carved herself. The gentle resonance, usually a source of comfort, only underscored the unease Marcus's visit had left in its wake.

  Her lip curled. "Cryptic old fool," she muttered, smoothing her jacket with sharp, agitated motions. Marcus should have known better than to wrap warnings in riddles. The Council could play their political games, but she'd deal with this her way, methodically and without their interference.

  Her boots clicked a brisk rhythm down the hallway, the sharp sound softening as she reached the café's worn floorboards. Pausing in the doorway, she took in the quiet scene.

  Ash moved between tables with uncharacteristic precision, the cleaning cloth gliding smoothly across the surfaces. No spinning theatrics, no cheeky commentary. Her eyes narrowed. Mara must have bribed him into this rare display of focus.

  At the counter, Emil frowned at a precarious tower of coffee mugs, reaching to steady a wobbling piece. He flinched as she appeared beside him.

  "Gods, Bryony!" His hand flew to his chest, coffee sloshing dangerously in his mug. "You can't sneak up on an old man like that!"

  "Old?" She swiped his coffee. "Talk to me about old when you've outlived steam engines."

  She took a slow, deliberate sip, savouring both the rich brew and his sputtering protests.

  "Thieving immortals," Emil muttered, already reaching for another mug. "No respect for their elders…"

  The ceramic clinked softly as she set down the stolen mug. Her palms came together in a sharp clap, slicing through the café's quiet hum. "Leave it for now. We need to talk."

  The shift was immediate. Ash's cloth froze mid-swipe, his easy grin dropping as sharp eyes locked onto her. Mara's phone disappeared into her pocket with a flick of her wrist, her shoulders squaring. Emil abandoned his brewing entirely, his habitual warmth replaced by the quiet intensity he reserved for serious matters.

  Bryony perched on a high stool at the counter, the cool oak grounding her. From her vantage point, she watched her team settle into place. Ash sprawled into a booth with studied nonchalance, though the gleam in his eye betrayed his alertness. Mara perched beside him, her hands clasped tightly, her energy wound taut like a spring. Emil leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his frown deepening as his gaze swept over her.

  Her fingers brushed the rim of Emil's abandoned coffee mug. The café's familiar warmth contrasted sharply with the cold weight in her chest since Marcus's visit.

  "We have a problem," she said, calmly. The words landed like stones, sending a ripple through the room. Bryony let the silence stretch, the gravity of her words settling in.

  "Had an interesting visitor earlier this evening." Bryony's voice broke the stillness, each word deliberate, measured. A wry smile tugged at her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Marcus Wraight himself, bearing his usual gift of unwelcome news."

  Her fingers tightened around her cup, sending ripples across the surface of the coffee. "Remember the Norwegian locket? The family couldn't handle it. Handed it straight to the Council."

  "Well, that's fantastic." Ash rolled his eyes, the white streak in his hair catching the café's soft glow. "That cursed thing had me jumping at shadows for—" His complaint ended in a sharp yelp as Mara jabbed his leg under the table, her raised eyebrow a silent warning.

  Bryony placed her cup down with deliberate care, the porcelain clicking against the saucer unnaturally loud in the silence. "That's not the worst of it. Someone stole it from the vault."

  The room froze. Even the familiar creak of the old building seemed to hold its breath.

  Mara's posture, already impossibly straight, stiffened further. Her noise-cancelling headphones slipped slightly as she turned sharply toward Bryony.

  "The Council's vault?" Mara's voice carried a razor-sharp edge of disbelief. "That's..."

  "Either genius or suicidal," Ash interjected, his usual slouch gone as he leaned forward, arms crossed. The glint in his eyes shifted from irreverent to calculating. "You've got to admire the nerve, though. Stupid nerve, but nerve nonetheless."

  Behind the counter, Emil's deft fingers paused mid-motion among his vials. His usually animated expression stilled, replaced by quiet intensity. "What exactly did Marcus want from you?"

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  Bryony continued to trace the rim of her cup with one finger, her green eyes distant. "What he always wants. Answers. He seems to think I might have insight into this... particular situation. Since we were the ones to find it."

  The memory of the locket's magic crept over her skin like frost, bitter and unrelenting. Ancient magic bleeding from its cursed metal. The creatures that stood guard over it. No ordinary thief would risk taking something so volatile.

  Her gaze fell to the floorboards, each scuffed plank a familiar comfort against the unease curling in her chest. The Council's vault wasn't a target for amateurs. Its defences were legendary. As impenetrable as you could get. Whoever breached it had to have intimate knowledge, flawless execution, and the audacity to pull it off. They knew exactly what they wanted and how to take it.

  Marcus's carefully measured words echoed in her mind, deliberate and weighted. Her jaw tightened. Trust him to reveal just enough to hook her while shrouding the most critical details. There was always more with Marcus—always.

  She looked up, her gaze meeting each of her team's in turn. Ash's smirk had turned sharp, calculating. Mara's eyes burned with quiet intensity as she stared at the table in front of her. Emil leaned forward slightly, his frown deepening as he waited for her to speak.

  Marcus wanted answers? So did she.

  Bryony drew a steady breath, her fingers drumming a measured rhythm against the worn oak table as she surveyed her team. Her gaze settled on Mara.

  "Mara."

  The psychic's head snapped up, her sharp eyes already alert. "Council security feeds?"

  "Exactly. Quietly dig through the last month. Look for anything unusual. Pattern changes, gaps, unexpected activity. My gut says this was an inside job, or someone had help."

  Mara's fingers momentarily twitched, her muscle memory already navigating invisible keyboards. She gave a tight nod and reached across Ash for her laptop.

  "Emil." Bryony turned to the alchemist, who leaned forward, eyes bright. "What about the binding patterns we recorded on the locket? Is there any way to trace it?"

  "The resonance was… unusual," Emil said, brow furrowing as he rested his elbows on the counter. "Give me an hour with my texts and equipment. If there's a traceable energy signature, I'll find it."

  "Good." Bryony shifted her attention to Ash, who was fidgeting with his collar—one of his many tells when he was itching for action.

  "The underground markets need your touch," she said. "If anyone's planning to fence this thing—"

  "They'll spill their secrets to the right drinking companion," Ash interrupted, his playful grin sharpening into something predatory. "Amazing how chatty people get when you're buying the rounds."

  Bryony's lips quirked, but her expression stayed focused.

  "And you, Boss?" Mara's quiet voice broke through the charged atmosphere, her hands still poised over her imaginary keyboard.

  Bryony's jaw tightened, her gaze turning distant for a brief moment. "I'm paying Marcus a visit. After that…" Her voice dipped, heavy with intent. "It's time to call in some old debts."

  "Well then." Ash slid out from the booth as Mara settled opposite. His stretch masking the readiness of a coiled predator. His grin widened, though his eyes gleamed. "These pubs won't drink themselves dry."

  Bryony pressed her fingers to her temple. The memory of the locket's magic pulsed through her veins, cold and unyielding, like a splinter lodged in her essence.

  Opening her eyes she stood and turned only to catch Mara staring at her. Those dark eyes locked onto Bryony with the uncanny precision that had unnerved many a would-be liar. Her fingers froze above her keyboard, her gaze narrowing in silent inquiry. Bryony straightened instinctively, shoring up her mental barriers. But the faint furrow in Mara's brow told her it wasn't enough. She smiled what she hoped would be a reassuring smile and broke the contact.

  "Sakra!" Emil's sharp voice fractured the heavy silence, his pacing near the counter erratic. The phone pressed to his ear buzzed with rapid-fire Czech, his gloved fingers drumming a restless rhythm against his thigh. The chemical stains on his leather gloves, usually the subject of his cheerful explanations, looked darker in the fading light, like shadows that refused to let go.

  Mara's laptop cast a faint, flickering blue glow across her face. Her headphones hung loosely around her neck, forgotten as her fingers resumed their precise, mechanical dance over the keyboard. Lines of code flashed across her glasses, each keystroke cutting through the tension in the air. A defiance of the unknown born of discipline and necessity.

  "I'll start with the docks," Ash announced as he swung his coat onto his shoulders. His grin flashed like a blade, sharp and self-assured. The white streak in his hair caught the dim light, adding a theatrical edge to his already flamboyant presence. "People talk freely to a pretty barmaid. Convenient, isn't it?"

  His grin widened into a smirk as his form shimmered briefly, the faintest hint of his shapeshifting nature surfacing. The door's bell chimed as Ash slipped into the night.

  Bryony lingered in the quiet that followed, her thoughts a tangled web of Marcus's cryptic warnings and the locket's lingering darkness. Her boots whispered against the floorboards as she made her way to the back office, the warmth of the café fading with each step. The memory of the locket clung to her magical senses like a spectre. Ancient, writhing, and alive in a way that even the most cursed objects rarely were.

  The air grew colder as she reached her office door, the wards etched into the brass handle, sparking faintly under her touch. Inside, her collection of artefacts rested in muted silence, their familiar presence a comfort on most nights. But tonight, the long shadows stretching across the shelves felt accusatory, as though the objects themselves questioned her ability to handle what was coming.

  Her fingers brushed the edge of her desk as her eyes scanned the quiet room. The breached vault, Marcus's half-truths, and the locket's insidious power spiralled together into a storm she hadn't anticipated, each thread tightening the noose of unease.

  "What aren't you telling me, Marcus?" she murmured into the stillness.

  The room offered no answers, only the weight of secrets gathering like thunderclouds on the horizon.