As with Narcissa, I contacted Vincent via my phone.

 

Can you come to Room 214 at The King’s Retreat? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you in private.

 

I’m busy, Vincent replied. If it’s important, come to The Elysian. Otherwise, we can talk tomorrow.

 

I pinched the bridge of my nose – I was tired of traveling the city. The only thing worse than traveling was the constant outfit switches. Truth be told, I considered sleeping in my evening dress when I slipped it on, simply so I wouldn’t have to change again that day. It’s a minor inconvenience, I reminded myself before sending another text.

 

I’ll be there soon.

 

“Wynn, we’re headed to The Elysian. Becca, come with us, though stay inside the car. We’ll celebrate after I conclude the meeting.”

 

It didn’t take us too long to arrive and proceed as planned. Automatic doors swished open and welcomed Wynn and me to The Elysian Casino.

 

The golden interior glistened while a soft jazz melody blended well with the flash and glitz of the packed building. The crowd bustled all over, spellbound by machines and roulette and games in progress and alcohol and a host of other luxuries and excesses. Finding Vincent on my own wouldn’t be easy, so I sent him another text, informing him we were there and asking him to send an escort to wherever he was.

 

Leonor, one of the Damatessa, arrived shortly after and brought us to a private poker lounge. She informed me that Vincent waited inside and, per my request for privacy, it would be simply us two.

 

She added a warning that she’d be just outside before I entered.

 

A faint yet sweet lime cologne confirmed Vincent’s presence before I crossed the threshold. Once I did, I found him seated at a square, felt-covered table with a stack of colorful poker chips before him. The elegant, inverted pyramid chandelier above the table shaded him and his white suit with a golden light.

 

“Perfect timing!” Vincent said as he popped out of his seat. “I just finished my game. With a victory, of course!”

 

“Congratulations,” I said as he rounded the table. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.”

 

“I’m always doing well. Are you?”

 

“That’s… what I’m here to discuss…”

 

“Here,” Vincent said as he pulled out one of the posh leather dining chairs at the table. “You’ve my undivided attention.”

 

I lowered myself into the chair, and Vincent claimed the one directly next to me.

 

“I now own The Maker’s Tear,” I said, cutting to the chase.

 

Vincent barked out a harsh laugh. “Can’t say I saw that coming! Did Narcissa sell it to you?”

 

“No. I offered her a bargain. She gives me The Maker’s Tear, and I help her hide.”

 

“She wants you to take the brunt of The Grandmaster’s vendetta, doesn’t she? How pathetic. Give me The Maker’s Tear, and I’ll—”

 

“I’m anonymously donating it to The Church of The Qirik,” I said. “It’s what The Grandmaster wants.”

 

Vincent’s brow settled into a studious frown. “Do you fear her too?”

 

“…She contacted me after the gala’s conclusion. She has…compromising images of me with someone…”

 

“What do you mean by ‘compromising?’”

 

I cast my gaze downward to the thin, red flooring. “Sexual.”

 

“…I see—”

 

“No, you do not see! And preventing you or anyone from seeing is wh—”

 

“Cassie, I’m on your side here! I get why you’re doing what you’re doing. I can’t blame you.”

 

I heaved rapid, noisy puffs out my nose before slowing them to steady, deep breaths and sealing my eyes. So far, so good, I believed. I was sure I could position myself right where I wished within minutes.

 

I opened my eyes once more, but I kept my gaze down. “Sorry, I—”

 

“No, no, I get it. This can’t be an easy time for you.”

 

I sealed my eyes again. This is it, I thought as I reached into my feelings.

 

I visualized the mystery man again, with his throat gashed. I replayed the confrontation from The Melting Pot, Wyatt across from me, untouchable despite his misdeeds. I remembered how my insides bunched into knots as I sat there powerless despite everything at my disposal…

 

My jaw muscles firmed while my heart gunned into overdrive.

 

“I won’t allow The Grandmaster’s actions to go unanswered,” I said, my voice as restrained as a tightly coiled snake. “That’s why I wished to speak with you. Vincent, help me bring down The Grandmaster of Theft. I’ll be a much better collaborator than Narcissa.”

 

Interest flickered across Vincent’s eyes. The twinge of a grin played with his mouth, though he restrained himself.

 

Gotcha! I thought. I could practically see him seizing the bait.

 

Or at least I could before he thinned his lips. His eyes tightened as his gaze snaked along me.

 

“This is all very convincing,” he said, “but I can’t help but think you’re up to something… Like maybe you are The Grandmaster of Theft, and you’re trying to get close to me.”

 

My heart snitched an extra beat. I had to act quickly – or else. “Have you forgotten the gala already?! We were in the same place at the same time!”

 

“That doesn’t prove anything. Maybe The Grandmaster who showed up was an imposter. Or maybe you’re an insider.”

 

I pinched the brim of my nose. “I’m an idiot for thinking I could turn to you.” I propelled myself out of the seat. “Suspect me all you want—”

 

“There is a way to earn my trust. Those pictures. Give them to me.”

 

His words were cockroaches shimming up my skin.

 

“Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t destroy them?!”

 

He shrugged. “Get The Grandmaster to create another copy. She must have the original for it to be effective blackmail.”

 

I summoned up as dirty a look as I could muster. It wasn’t the least bit difficult, as I genuinely felt it. “For someone who claims to understand, you have a poor way of showing it.”

 

I wheeled around and began to head straight for the door – storming out struck me as the most logical move – but Vincent’s chilly, sleek hands clamped onto my left wrist.

 

Fire flushed through my body and twisted me back in his direction. Nerves thrust my fist at his face, but I stopped short of crushing his nose.

 

My hand stilled before his color-siphoned face.

 

Vincent’s brows had gone skyward while his eyes gaped. Shock shaped his face for a moment – but just a moment. Then his brows folded down, and his eyes lurked with what can only be called a smoldering hunger.

 

An undiluted, full-teethed grin brought his dimples into prominence.

 

My arm wavered as my stomach hollowed out.

 

He’s warped… I thought. Something about the face he displayed told me I had only witnessed the tip of the iceberg when it came to his insanity.

 

Whatever the case, I genuinely wished to have nothing more to do with him. I yanked my arm free. “Don’t touch me.”

 

I edged to the door while keeping my gaze trained on him. The grin waned into a wicked smirk.

 

“So,” he said, his tone conversational, “you say The Grandmaster contacted you. Did she tell you about Ozonnole?”

 

His statement jolted my spine and halted my advance. What is he doing?! I wondered. Why would he mention Ozon?

 

“I’ll take that as a yes!” he said, pep in his voice.

 

Kakaz! I cursed as all the pieces connected. It was a brilliant ploy worthy of someone who had matched wits with me and lasted as he had. Best of all, it wasn’t even a risk for him. If I were in his position, I wouldn’t fear the consequences of mentioning my alias. The opposition would either already know and expose their knowledge, or they wouldn’t, at which point the name could be explained away.

 

I had to recover – but I couldn’t appear to be recovering. Thus, denying or explaining my reaction was out of the question. It would only appear as if I was being defensive. Defensiveness would only strengthen Vincent’s resolve.

 

The question of “how” set my teeth on edge. I couldn’t think long – every second of hesitance harmed my case.

 

Do the opposite! my intuition demanded.

 

“She didn’t need to,” I said as I grasped my raw scheme. “I already knew about Ozonnole.”

 

“How?” he asked as his gaze bore deep.

 

“I’m a detective. I have my ways. The more important question is, how did you learn about Ozonnole?”

 

His eyes remained fixated as he angled a smirk at me. Then he wagged his head. “I see the game you’re playing. You turn the spotlight on me and use it to elicit information by acting like you’re in the know. Not bad. Not bad at all. Sadly, it’s nothing that can work on me.”

 

I pursed my lips – as if he had caught me –  though, in truth, delight swelled within my heart. After all, it seemed as if my gamble bore fruit.

 

Vincent would suspect anything I said, given how guarded he was. What’s more, he’d seek to punch holes in any statement which didn’t confirm the conclusion he had already reached. So, instead of simply feigning ignorance, I decided it wiser to appear to be feigning intelligence. I figured it would cause him to pause – as it did – and rethink what was going on in a bid to outfox me.

 

“Fine,” I said, “you caught me. I still wish to know about this Ozonnole figure.”

 

“I learned of them a few weeks ago. Hilda reported that she overheard Narcissa speaking with someone who she called Ozonnole. We continued to monitor, from which we learned that Ozonnole guided Narcissa through all this.”

 

“Any inkling as to why?”

 

A shake of his head and a shrug answered my question. Or I suppose I should say “answered.”

 

Vincent didn’t lose track of the thread for too long, though. “Why were you so shocked when I said his name for the first time?”

 

“Are you familiar with the origins of Ozonnole’s name?”

 

“Zimavata, corr—” He stalled as the conclusion dawned on him. “Ah! Right! You’re half Zimavatan. I forgot for a moment.”

 

“That’s quite the feat,” I said as I brushed my finger through my hair and flicked my locks.

 

Vincent sighed. “Stress does funny things to the mind.”

 

“Like lead to you accusing me of cooperating with a thief who is blackmailing me?”

 

“A good example. I could say sorry, but I’d rather repent with action. So, regarding your offer, I’m willing to accept – provided we seek out this Ozonnole fellow as well.”

 

Vincent extended his hand.

 

“To a fruitful partnership,” I said as I accepted his hand.

 

And then Vincent, being him, decided to plant his lips against the back of my hand. My tongue burned with an urge to speak, to curse him, but I kept it in check.

 

“Before you go,” Vincent said, “there’s something I must disclose. I don’t think you’ll like hearing it, however.”

 

One of my brows rose in a slow arch. “What is it?”

 

“I must stress that this is just a theory at the second. But, based on what you’ve shared, it could be more credible than I initially thought.”

 

“Tell me already.”

 

“I may know how The Grandmaster obtained candid photos of you. Tell me, were you with Rebecca Maddox?”

 

A stone dropped through my core as I realized what I had unwittingly done. Did I truly outsmart Vincent, or was this partnership a snare? I wondered as a second realization struck me. I could've simply refused to answer if he had asked before agreeing to anything.

 

Our partnership stripped me of the option – or at least it did if I wished to appear cooperative.

 

“Becca would never betray me,” I said.

 

“I had her followed toda—"

 

“Why?”

 

“When we were investigating you, I thought she might be a person of interest. She mysteriously vanished today at a movie theatre.”

 

“That means nothing.”

 

“Maybe,” he said, “maybe not. They never saw her exit the place.”

 

“She’s a magician with a social presence. Perhaps she was worried about stalkers and fled. It doesn’t mean it has anything to do with The Grandmaster of Theft.”

 

“I’d know for sure if you set up a meeting between her and my people.”

 

My palms seared with the urge to stretch across, clasp onto his stupid locks, yank him into the table, and crack his head open against the wood. Then as he writhed in pain on the floor, I’d straddle him and cover his nose with one hand while I clasped down on his throat with the other. I could easily picture it, my muscles locked in as his revolting existence faded beneath me.

 

I cannot control others if I cannot control myself, I repeated once more as my body, my essence, ached to act. I burned to prevent Vincent from getting any closer to harming what was mine. Nevertheless, I stayed my hand. Giving in would’ve been giving up power.

 

The power of stratagems significantly surpasses that of violence. A fist, an arrow, or a bullet may or may not kill a single person. A well-devised scheme, meanwhile, can prevent someone from even existing. It can prevent issues from ever existing if properly executed. And I was confident I could adequately manage the escape this predicament demanded.

 

“If this must happen,” I said, “let me investigate.”

 

“That seems like a bad idea.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Are you in love with her?” he asked.

 

My tongue froze to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t say yes to Vincent, of all people, even if it was apparent.

 

“Affection is the greatest blindfold,” Vincent said.

 

A fire crackled beneath my skin. My fingers folded in and tightened. I had to figure out a way to persuade him, or else…

 

My mind zoomed through a list of tactics for resisting persuasion.

 

I could’ve said, “I’ll think about it,” retreated, and figured out how to control the meeting later, but the approach didn’t satisfy me. What if Vincent tried something in the intervening time? I needed the problem dealt with then and there.

 

I likewise could’ve given some explanation – she disappeared to meet me that night – but it struck me as a bad idea. What if he exploited that as he had the phony blackmail? The fewer options I provided him, the better.

 

My jaw was a spring wound with tension. Kakaz, I cursed as I heaved hot and heavy breaths. My mask had slipped entirely. I had no choice but to incorporate said anger into my counter.

 

“Rebecca is mine,” I said, venom dripping with every word. “If she betrayed me, I’ll be the one who confirms it.”

 

Vincent scowled with a stubborn determination that could rival the dragons of myth.

 

“This partnership feels very one-sided so far,” he said. “I’ve told you all sorts of things, yet you won’t give me this.”

 

Gotcha! I thought.

 

Vincent’s patterns were now predictable.

 

First, he responded to my anger with an implied threat which was meant to diffuse the situation, for fear of me losing his partnership. He treated me much like he had Narcissa.

 

Moreover, he tried to exploit the same logic he had before through Narcissa when trying to bait me into a polygraph. If you recall, people who lose access to something they believe they’re about to receive experience the same psychological response as someone who has something taken from them.

 

Finally, he added a touch of fairness to the equation. He was all but pressuring me into reciprocating.

 

It was a well-played ploy against someone rational, but my anger granted me an excuse to no longer act rational.

 

“I wish to handle this myself,” I said, my voice as firm as reinforced steel bars. “If you can’t accept that, we needn’t cooperate.”

 

His eyes bulged before his mouth slacked open. Then he slammed his mouth shut as his nostrils flared. I had successfully reversed the threat.

 

It’s easy to overlook, but he needed me to replace Narcissa. He needed Cassidy Cain to bait and pursue The Grandmaster of Theft. By threatening to quit, I used the same psychological trick he had implied.

 

He’s threatening Rebecca, I reminded myself once more to sustain the mask of anger. On the inside, I laughed. Vincent had no choice but to placate me if he wished to maintain the partnership. And pacifying me meant yielding.

 

Vincent heaved a heavy sigh before softening his face into a smile. “I’ll concede under two conditions.”

 

“What?” I asked, restrained.

 

“One, your grandfather leads the charge.”

 

“And two?”

 

“You agree to do me a favor in the future. No questions asked. Since this is me doing you a favor here.”

 

I’ll give Vincent this: he’s good at seizing any advantage, even when his back is against the wall. I suppose he and I are much alike in that respect. I could respect his perseverance if he didn’t utilize it for such disgusting actions. Oh well.

 

Anyway, a piece of me wondered what the favor might be, but I wasn’t too concerned. I’d handle whatever Vincent requested when the issue arose.

 

“I’ll accept so long as it doesn’t require me to do or support something illegal,” I said.

 

With a wry smile, Vincent said, “Oh, you needn’t worry about breaking the law. I’m not a criminal.”

 

I arranged a meeting for a later date for our alliance before exiting the room, feeling heavier than I had when I entered. There’s still so much to do, I thought as I added falsifying an interrogation with Becca to the list. I placed it above protecting Sylvia, vanishing Narcissa, confronting Lilah, investigating Crow, and explaining myself to Grandpa.

 

There’s always something more, I sulked.

 

Still, I marched forward with my head held high.

 

I had The Maker’s Tear.

 

I had my freedom.

 

I had my reputation.

 

And, of course, I had my girlfriend waiting for me in the car.

 

While there was still more to do, it didn’t negate my progress. It didn’t invalidate the victories I claimed.