Becca’s ensemble consumed my attention when she entered. A pleated white skirt graced her hips while a blaze-red cropped hoodie flaunted her trim midriff.

 

If only the circumstances were different… I thought before scrubbing my face and dropping my head. “Becca… Rebecca… Thank you for coming…”

 

“What’s with the seriousness?”

 

My shoulders hitched while I sealed my eyes. This was it. The moment of truth – literally. I simply had to speak the words…

 

And yet, instead of answering her, I said with a weak voice, “…Please don’t hate me.”

 

“Hate you for…?”

 

“Ruining our relationship, for starters.”

 

Becca’s muffled patter across the shag, scarlet carpet magnified as she closed in. “You’ve lost me.”

 

“You have no clue…”

 

Her balmy fingers brushed against my chin and boosted my head up. Her blue gaze probed into me.

 

“Cassie, you haven’t literally lost me. Stop being melodramatic and tell me what’s going on.”

 

I averted my gaze. “Remember when I said I wasn’t The Grandmaster of Theft?”

 

“Yep. Based on everything, I’m guessing that was a lie.”

 

A flip switched in my head, and I imagined a couple of pretexts. For instance, I could’ve claimed I was up to something unrelated to The Grandmaster that required stealth and that I needed her to provide me an alibi. I had no inkling what the feigned task would be, but I could’ve figured it out.

 

She need never know, a part of me said. I could’ve swayed her into helping me and then retired, with her none the wiser about my criminality.

 

I could’ve…

 

But I didn’t.

 

After everything, I simply wished to share the truth.

 

I sealed my eyes. “Guilty as charged.”

 

Becca hooked my shoulder with her nails – I bit back a wince – before yanking me in closer.

 

“Why are you telling me this now?!” she asked. “Did Gale get something incriminating, and you’re going on the run?! Is this a goodbye?!”

 

“N-No, nothing of the sort.”

 

“Then what’s wrong?!”

 

I blinked as if doing so would alter her appearance. But nevertheless, her swollen eyes glittered with…concern.

 

“Aren’t… Aren’t you angry…?” I asked. “I’ve deceived you for all this time…”

 

“That’s not important right now! I mean, I guess I’m peeved, but something’s going on, isn’t it?”

 

I nodded.

 

“I’ll be angry or whatever later! What do you need me to do now?”

 

A tingling, cozy warmth soothed away the invisible weight I had hauled into the hotel. I never pictured anybody reacting as she had. I wished it, but I never considered it possible. Yet she did it. She performed the impossible.

 

It took all I had to hold my tears at bay. I suspect the effort such a feat demanded sapped my restraint from elsewhere as my arms swept her in without me realizing.

 

Becca’s arms met with my back and completed our embrace. “Is this what you needed?”

 

My eyes began to water, but I wiped the tears away before releasing my grasp. “I’m sorry I kept you in the dar—”

 

Becca poked a finger against my lips. “Later. Catch me up already.”

 

The corners of my lips twitched up. I pecked Becca’s finger and internally swore I’d pay her back tenfold. Then I took a step back and spoke.

 

“I’ve been infiltrating Narcissa’s ranks. My initial goal was to steal The Maker’s Tear. It still is, but there’s more than the surface suggests. There’s an entity backing Narcissa who is intent on capturing me. They go by Ozonnole.”

 

“As in the Zimavatan god?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Becca wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t Vincent into Zimavatan stuff? And isn’t he working with Narcissa?”

 

My mind returned to the luncheon, to the statement which struck me as peculiar. I was confident that Vincent justifying his involvement while distancing himself from Narcissa was a genuine leak of his understanding of the conflict. However, I couldn’t shake my previous assessment. Why would Vincent be a criminal?

 

“I considered the possibility of them being the same already, though I doubt it. Vincent is likely a pawn… of some… sort…” I crossed my arms. “I have a theory regarding Ozonnole’s name choice. Your conclusion that Ozonnole is Vincent with such ease makes me wonder if that’s why Ozonnole chose the name.”

 

“So he’s a red herring?”

 

“Perhaps. Vincent could also be a fall guy. Regardless, I doubt he’s the mastermind.”

 

“Maybe he’s arrogant enough to pick the name anyway.”

 

I sealed my eyes, crossed my arms, and reviewed my profile on Vincent.

 

I was twelve when I first encountered Vincent, who was eighteen. He complimented my hair, though I thought little of it. I only reconsidered it once I learned of his rakish reputation.

 

In all his escapades, he never struck me as bright. Ozonnole, meanwhile, seemed far more calculating.

 

It could be a pretext, I thought, but for the Ozonnole name theory to be accurate, Vincent would have to be foolish as opposed to feigning it. “From my interaction with Ozonnole, they don’t seem the sort.”

 

“Hmm…” Becca tapped her fingers against the side of her lips. “Maybe, but counterpoint, you’re smart, yet you use Reinhardt the Trickster Fox as your logo. Someone could assume you’re The Grandmaster because you like openly like foxes, and The Grandmaster uses a fox.”

 

I chewed on my cheek.

 

In my defense, I realized the hazards connecting The Grandmaster to foxes carried. However, I figured my reputation for competence shielded me.

 

Maybe Vincent and I are not so different in that respect, I mused before my thoughts snapped to something more imperative.

 

If Vincent was involved, he likely knew of the kidnapping. If he knew of the kidnapping, he knew The Grandmaster was in motion. And since I was a person of interest in The Grandmaster case…

 

I fetched my phone and called Grandpa.

 

“Well timed,” Grandpa said. “I was just about to call. Three vehicles keep periodically circling the hotel. I believe you’re being watched.”

 

I stifled a grin while internally gloating about how I knew the precautions were worth it. More importantly, a new plan formed in my head. By committing to this move, I found another chink in Ozonnole’s scheme. I had no clue where it would lead, but I intended to strike until I broke through.

 

“Thank you, sir. Inform Wynn for me. I need to change. Becca, I could use your hand with readying my disguise.”

 

She swiftly bobbed her head.

 

I brought Becca up to speed on everything as we altered my appearance. Becca’s make-up artistry made the difference: we broadened my face, fat-ended my nose, and aged my face with some tiredness shadows. She even rounded my eyes with her shading.

 

Midway through applying a spray tan, I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you feel I made the right call involving my grandfather?”

 

“I think what you did was super kind,” Becca said.

 

“It wasn’t kind to you. To us. I’ve all but sacrificed our relationship.”

 

“Do you regret doing everything you can to help a little girl in trouble?”

 

“There’s a couple of things I regret – not informing you sooner, not asking you to be my girlfriend sooner – but I can’t say I regret this job.”

 

“Even if it means this is your last job as The Grandmaster of Theft?”

 

My heart sprinted up my throat while my jaw set. Although I had considered the possibility, I didn’t wish for it to end this way.

 

Maybe this was a mistake… a part of me said.

 

Then I considered the alternative. Of not involving Grandpa. Of not doing my utmost to rescue Sylvia.

 

My heart twisted and writhed.

 

“Failing to accept this job would make it my last job as The Grandmaster of Theft,” I said. “I wouldn’t be a noble thief anymore.”

 

Becca drifted over to me and pecked my lips. “And that’s the top reason I trust you so much. I find you risking everything to help those with less than you super cool. And sexy. Super sexy.”

 

I snickered behind closed lips – pleasing Becca was always a bonus. But unfortunately, I couldn’t focus on those feelings. I had one other concern before leaving.

 

“I need you to promise me one thing,” I said. “If this is my last job – if I fail to elude capture at the end of this, sacrifice me to protect yourself.”

 

“Why would—”

 

“I don’t want Gale to charge you as an accomplice. So play the victim if anything comes to light.”

 

Her face blackened. “I’ll promise if you promise me something.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t accept defeat. No matter how difficult anything from here on becomes. I’m sure you’ll find some way out of anything you run into if you don’t give up.”

 

I grinned. “Course I will. I wouldn’t deserve to be called The Grandmaster of Theft if I couldn’t.”

 

“Good! I’d like to use this room for its intended purpose tonight, so I need you back in one piece.”

 

A shiver shot through me. She was persuasive.

 

I finished changing not long after. This time I adopted a pair of black sneakers, cargo pants, and a crop top hoodie. A short, brown wig with curtain bangs completed the transformation.

 

Becca gave me a once-over. “This should do! I can barely recognize you.”

 

“Stellar. Here’s hoping those watching fail to recognize me at all.”

 

My wish was granted when I exited the hotel. It was as simple as a waltz out the door and down the street. It didn’t surprise me, though; stealth is ultimately a matter of cunning, timing, and awareness. Or, in other words, I simply had to be unobtrusive.

 

Even when stealing a car from a nearby parking lot, I continued to blend. Most car fobs operate on the same wavelength. Thus, hacking into it is child’s play when one has a relay attack device. I simply pressed each signal until a nearby vehicle unlocked.

 

I made my way to the safehouse closest to the restaurant, at which point I altered my appearance again. I was going to invest more effort into my disguise when an idea dawned on me: what if I appeared as visually close to myself as possible?

 

This might sound counterproductive, but as said, stealth is ultimately a matter of cunning, timing, and awareness. There are different methods to achieve this. In this case, I could obtain stealth with my audacity.

 

The approach utilized the same tactic we theorized regarding Vincent and Ozonnole. If my scheme worked, The Grandmaster would appear as a Zimavatan. Knowing that I’d take countermeasures in this predicament, they’d conclude it unlikely that I, Cassidy Cain, was involved. If questioned, Becca would provide the alibi, which would be corroborated by their surveillance team. I could likewise feign victimhood to lower their suspicions.

 

This would save me time, I noted. What’s more, this could be useful against Grandpa too.

 

Given his desire to keep me safe, I could insist that letting me complete the job was best in the long haul. After all, I needed to perform my blow-off. 

 

All in all, it struck me as a stellar gambit. Still, I hadn’t failed to consider the risk.

 

My gambit could’ve bolstered the likelihood of the surveillance team attempting to investigate my presence. Still, that possibility didn’t deter me; it could happen regardless of my disguise. The Grandmaster would be present in public, after all. So if they were going to try anything utilizing the surveillance, they would then, regardless. 

 

I’ll have to count on Wynn and Becca to handle it, I decided.

 

I sent a message to Wynn informing him of my scheme. I didn’t concern myself with anything else with them since the plot itself didn’t alter his instructions. Instead, I preoccupied myself with my disguise.

 

I removed the wig and wiped away the tan before slicking back my hair. Then I added a pair of rimless, rectangular glasses which altered my appearance somewhat. Furthermore, I swapped my attire for black sneakers, jeans, a black-and-white checkered turtleneck, black leather gloves, and a white flat hat.

 

I did obscure my movements by concealing the car. Since arriving with a stolen car struck e as too bold, I left the safe house with another I had stashed away. When I arrived at The Melting Pot, I had twelve minutes to spare. I used it to message Crow.

 

Are you here? I asked.

 

Waiting outside, red coupe.

 

I scanned the parking lot. A couple of cars filled the lot, but not too many. The red coupe – and Crow at the steering wheel – quickly caught my eye.

 

I sank back into the seat. Stellar, I thought. All the pieces are in place.

 

Then Crow messaged, This doesn’t seem like the job we agreed on.

 

This takes precedence, I replied. We can re-negotiate after.

 

We agreed on ONE job.

 

My lips began to pull into a grimace, but I forced a smile instead. As Wynn said, I always found a way.

 

As you wish, I messaged. Carry out this job to the utmost of your ability. A girl with a dark complexion will approach you soon. She’ll say, “do jailbirds fly?” You’ll reply, “they dream of flying.”

 

I finished the message with instructions on where to escort her, which you needn’t hear. Crow sent a confirmatory message shortly after, freeing me to focus on my meeting.

 

I entered The Melting Pot.