The base felt hollow without Jenny.
Even with candles burning, the shadows clung to the walls as if mocking their weakness. Every scrape of a blade, every restless breath from Amy, every quiet sigh from Lacey — all of it carried the weight of loss.
Tim stood at the head of the table, shoulders squared, his voice steady. "Jenny's in Nomerci's hands. If she lives, she's bait. If she dies, we lose our shot at revenge. Either way, we act fast."
Lacey folded her arms under her chest, frown sharp. "Storming their base head-on is a death wish."
Yuko leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, smirk gone. "Then we don't storm. We slip in. We need eyes inside."
The room's attention shifted. Toward Casey.
She lounged against the wall, one leg bent, leather stretched across her body like it had been stitched there. With the candlelight tracing her cheekbones, she looked less like a fighter and more like someone caught mid-photo shoot — polished, deliberate, dangerous.
Her lips curved. "So you've all decided it's me."
Tim's jaw tightened.
Casey stepped forward with a slow sway, the kind of practiced grace that made even Lacey glance sideways. Each step was measured, like a model's runway stride — controlled, undeniable. She let her nails trail across the table as she passed. "I've lived in the Red Light District long enough to know how Nomerci works. Information is their real weapon. They don't just fight with blades, they fight with secrets. I've traded enough of them to slip past their guards."
Amy tilted her head, wide-eyed. "You mean… you'll just walk in?"
"Not just walk." Casey smirked. "Blend. They know me there. I've dealt with their runners, even shared drinks with their enforcers. They'll think I'm back in the fold, hungry for coin or shelter. Meanwhile, I'll map the layout, find Jenny's cage, and bring it all back here."
Yuko's brow arched. "And if they test you?"
Casey shrugged, one strap of her top sliding lower, deliberate. It was the kind of "slip" actresses used at red carpets — never really an accident. "Then I lie prettier than the truth. Nomerci feeds on confidence. As long as I act like I belong, they won't question it."
Lacey's arms tightened across her chest. "And if you're wrong?"
Casey leaned forward, resting her palms flat on the table, her cleavage lit by the candle glow. "Then I don't come back. But if I don't go at all, Jenny's already gone."
Silence followed.
Tim's fingers curled against the table edge, the rage inside him pressing against his ribs. He forced his voice steady. "You'll need signals. A way to tell us where she is."
Casey nodded, sliding a thin blade from her boot. She set it on the table. "I'll carve the marks into the walls — two slashes for danger, three for safe passage. You'll follow them in when I return with word."
The others nodded. The plan settled like cold iron.
But as they broke, Tim stayed seated, silent. His fists clenched. His shoulders locked. He wore the mask of control, but Yuko saw through it.
She pulled Lacey and Amy aside, whispering. "He's pretending. Look at his eyes. He's already unraveling."
Amy bit her lip, hugging her arms. "Master always hides it…"
Lacey sighed. "He takes every burden. But Jenny, Tammy, Nomerci… it's too much."
Casey slipped into their circle like smoke, her tone amused. "Then maybe I take the edge off before I walk into their lion's den. Men who carry this much crack. If I'm the one going into fire tomorrow, I'll make sure he doesn't burn himself tonight."
Amy's cheeks turned crimson. Lacey looked away. Yuko only smirked faintly, interested.
That night, Tim sat on the edge of his cot, shirt discarded, his torso scarred and bloodstained. His knife rested beside him. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, empty.
The door opened softly. Casey slipped in, closing it behind her.
"Still pretending?" she asked.
Tim didn't look up. "You should be resting. Tomorrow won't be kind."
Her steps were deliberate, smooth — not the sway of a temptress in the street, but the poise of someone who knew every eye in the room was already hers. She stopped in front of him, leaning just enough for the neckline of her leather top to dip.
"Rest doesn't sharpen me," she murmured. "Movement does. And right now…" Her finger traced the scar along his shoulder, slow and steady, like a yoga instructor guiding a form. "I see a man one crack away from breaking."
Tim's breath caught. His gaze rose. Casey's eyes locked on his, sharp, unreadable, the kind of gaze that belonged to a woman who could sell lies like they were gospel.
"I don't need—" he began.
Her finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. "Shhh. Just breathe."
She slid onto his lap, straddling him, her thighs gripping him firmly. The leather squeaked softly as she shifted, chest pressing against his bare skin.
Her lips brushed his ear, warm. "Think of it like briefing before a mission. One last indulgence before I slip into hell."
Tim's hands twitched at his sides, torn between pushing her away and holding her close.
Casey's smile deepened. She tilted her head, lips grazing his jaw. "That's it. Let me take the weight tonight. Tomorrow, I'll carry the danger."
Her kiss followed — slow, deep, stealing thought, leaving only instinct.
And for the first time since Jenny was taken, Tim let go.