I leaned a little closer, arms folded, like I was just people-watching. Jane said the readings had a spike right before the impact. Something about localized electromagnetic distortion, something else about residual heat and gamma trails. Basically, she was running a test before the hammer fell, and now the data was gone.
Darcy huffed. "Great. The one time I trust a satellite ping over Netflix and the universe throws an alien shit at our heads."
I could work with this.
I slid in beside them like I had just been wandering by. "Agents took your stuff?"
Darcy turned, narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
"Nobody," I said. "Just heard 'notebooks' and figured you might need someone who knows how to get things back from people in black."
Jane looked over, scanning me like I was a talking raccoon. "You were near the crash?"
"Close enough to see it fall. Not close enough to get a tan."
Erik stepped forward. "You said you can get our notes back?"
"I said maybe," I corrected. "Depends on what they looked like, how many guys grabbed them, and where they got stored."
Darcy crossed her arms. "And why would you help us?"
I shrugged. "Because if they are grabbing civilian property like it is candy, someone needs to make sure the people doing the science aren't getting steamrolled. Plus, if what you saw was important, I want to know why the government is acting like they shit their pants over it."
Jane nodded slowly. "They took everything. Our readings, notebooks, even my hard drive. We were testing the energy signature right before the object fell."
I leaned closer to Darcy. She smelled like half-burnt coffee and sass, hair a little greasy, jacket open enough to catch my eye, not enough to distract. She tilted her head when I got close, either curious or ready to call security. She looked like the type who flirted with bad ideas before lunch.
"Don't fight them," I whispered. "I will get your things back later."
She blinked.
"Let's exchange numbers."
Her eyes narrowed, skeptical, but the corner of her mouth twitched. I knew that twitch. That was slut math. Add curiosity, subtract rules, multiply chaos.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone. "What is your name?"
"Peter."
"Full name?"
"Peter."
She snorted. "Fine. Darcy Lewis. You better not send me feet pics or I will leak your number to a Reddit thread called 'cockroach lovers anonymous.'"
I grinned. "Deal. I only send tasteful ankles."
We swapped numbers. I watched her save mine with a little eyebrow raise. She typed something quick, and my phone buzzed a second later.
"Helper-boy."
Darcy looked back toward the agents, then to Jane. "If he delivers, I am naming my next vibrator after him."
Jane sighed. "You aren't funny."
Darcy pocketed her phone. "You are just mad he isn't saving your number."
I stepped back a little, watching Jane pretend she was above the joke. She was not. Her cheeks had that barely-there flush. Whether it was anger or something else, who knew. Didn't care. I glanced back at the agents still hovering near the vans.
If they were dumb enough to stuff all evidence in the same container, I could crack it. They were not guarding it like it mattered. Too busy playing black ops cosplay.
[System]: Sugar, they dumped everything into crate 14B, left side of the second van. Digital lock. Child's play. Want me to start the bypass?
I grinned, "Nah, send the whole shit into inventory when I am close enough. Let them freak out how a giant crate disappeared."
[System]: Oh, baby~ now that is the kind of chaos I live for. Five feet, one glitch, full Houdini on that container. They will piss classified bricks.
I moved closer to the van. Darcy was still mouthing off to one of the agents, her hands waving wildly.
I passed the second van on the left.
Three.
Two.
[System]: Zap zap, sugar. Done. Crate 14B, inventory-snatched. Contents rerouted to secure vault: Access Only Daddy.
I walked away like nothing happened. By the time it would, they would scream, scratch heads, maybe call it sabotage. Maybe accuse each other. Either way, I was not in it.
They let us go after five minutes of filler talk and more clipboard checkboxes. May and I walked away.
After arriving home, I pulled out my phone. Texted Darcy.
Me: Got your stuff girl, where you wanna meet?
Her reply came before I could lock the screen.
Darcy: Holy shit?? You serious??
Me: When do I lie?
Darcy: How tf should I know. We just met
Right, I forgot about that.
Me: Anyways, let us meet. I will deliver your stuff. Maybe you can reward me.
Darcy: I don't do handshakes and thank you notes. My gratitude comes with sarcasm and gum.
Me: If the gum is mint, I will accept that.
Darcy: It is fruit. Like my trauma.
Me: Sounds like a flavor that pairs well with stolen government intel.
Darcy: Meet me tomorrow evening. That cafe near Midtown Library. 'Beans & Buns.' Yes, the name is dumb. But they have good croissants and the back tables don't get nosy.
Me: I will be there.
Darcy: Wear something normal. You dress like a Twitch streamer who lost a bet.
Me: And you dress like sarcasm with tits. I think we are even.
Darcy: Rude. I like it.
(.)(.)
I left the house after yelling at May that I was leaving. She asked where. I said art. She said drugs? I said no. She said then I should eat before I turn into a sarcastic skeleton. I said I already was. She flicked a spoon at me. Missed.
The gallery was Zoey's battlefield tonight. That meant rich people. Classy fucks who pretended paint on canvas made them enlightened. I could not show up in my regular hoodie and jeans looking like I just finished stealing lunch money from bullies.
System and I made something from leftover materials. Button-down black with subtle stripes that caught light to look good but not to look douche. Sleeves rolled up, cuffs sharp. Pants tailored to my ass. Shoes no name brand, but polished to blind a pervert. The outfit screamed money. I didn't have any. So that worked.
[System]: Sugar, you look like you inherited stock options and entitlement. That collar alone could talk its way into VIP. Now go make her wet with words and pretend you know what abstract expressionism means.
I stepped into the subway like a discount Bond. Girls glanced up. One licked her lip. A guy in a vest stared at my reflection for two stops. Probably wondering if I was worth robbing. I ignored everyone. My stop came up.
The gallery was called Bleed. Outside, a red neon sign blinked to make it any more pretentious if it was possible. Inside, soft lights, white walls, fake calm. The place was full. Mostly rich kids with daddy's credit and names like Ash or Dakota. They stood around sipping overpriced wine, pretending to know shit.
Zoey was in the center.
She wore a black corset that hugged everything dangerous. Long skirt, slit up the thigh. Silver chains from her neck, bracelets clinking like cursed items waiting to be activated. Her lips were dark. Eyes sharper than before. Hair twisted up, loose strands falling.
She practically rushed me, "You came!"
I grinned as we hugged, "Not yet, but plan to."
Zoey pulled back, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching like she was debating slapping me or dragging me to a bathroom stall.
"You dress like sex," she said, eyes dropping to my shirt. "Where is the hoodie of badassness?"
"Dead. Replaced by effort."
"Good." She tugged my sleeve, dragging me past the crowd. "I want you to see something."
I walked behind her, eyes catching glimpses of half-painted canvases and sculptures that looked like someone gave a toddler cocaine and a welding kit.
She stopped in front of a painting. Black canvas. A single red slash across it. Thick and Uneven.
"This is yours?" I asked.
She nodded. "I call it 'Bite Back.'"
I tilted my head. "Looks like period rage on a blackout."
Zoey laughed. "Exactly."
Behind us, some guy in a blazer muttered something about the slash representing 'the feminine wound reborn in rebellion.' I fought the urge to elbow him. Zoey just rolled her eyes.
"You know what I like about you?" she asked, turning to face me. "You say what everything is. Not what you think I want to hear."
"That is because I don't care if you bite."
She leaned in. "You should."
Harry arrived to ruin the moment, "Peter. Didn't know you are coming."
He said it like I just crashed a family dinner. His hair was gelled. His shirt looked more expensive than a month's rent. Some girl next to him giggled like he had just told her she mattered. Two other rich kids flanked him. One wore a blazer with gold lining. The other had sunglasses inside, which told me everything I needed to know about his brain function.
Zoey's two school friends showed up soon after. The tall guy and Snapback guy. I never bothered to learn their names. They stood near the back, trying too hard to blend with the crowd while obviously waiting to be noticed. Tall guy looked like he still believed vertical height made up for a lack of personality. Snapback had upgraded from dumb cap to fedora, like it made him immune to judgment.
I shook Harry's hand.
"Yeah, I got invited, so I stole a suit off a corpse."
Harry smirked, "At least the corpse had taste."
"Better than yours," I said, adjusting my sleeve. "You look like a Disney prince going through a cocaine phase."
We started walking past more half-finished fever dreams stapled to walls. Every room reeked of paint, pretense, and what I could only describe as Jackson Pollock's vomit. The kind of visual mess that screamed "abstract expressionism" like it was a political movement instead of the overpriced laundry scam it really was.
"This one is called 'Fractured Identity,'" Zoey said, gesturing toward a piece that looked like someone lost a fight with ketchup and a glue stick.
"That is generous. I see 'Oops, All Emotions' with a side of tax evasion."
She snorted. "It is 'New Art.' Abstract expressionist."
"Yeah. So was the last oil spill."
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You can read up to Chapter 85...
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