Subject 117

The woman in my left ear said boundaries were the foundation of a healthy life.

The woman in my right ear said I had forty-two seconds before the east hall camera came back online.

One of them was considerably more useful than the other. I wasn’t saying which. Vega already thought too highly of herself.

“Riven,” she said, her voice low through the comm. “Are you listening to that ridiculous podcast again?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can hear her through the audio feed.”

“Well, maybe you could learn something.”

There was a pause. Not a good pause.

“Of all the times to listen to a self-help podcast, you choose during a robbery?”

“I like to balance felony with personal growth.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It did when I said it in my head.”

She muttered something in Dutch. I caught my name and nothing else, which was probably for the best. Vega switched languages whenever English failed to express the full depth of her disappointment in me.

I rounded a corner on the tower’s fifth floor and stopped at the entrance to a private gallery.

Jeez, that was ugly.

“I can see what you’re looking at,” Vega said. “Stop judging his art and find the office.”

Right. The glasses. I always forgot about the glasses. I looked anyway.

A bronze sculpture sat in the middle of the room. It might have been a horse. It might have been two people fighting under a blanket. Whatever it was, somebody had paid an offensive amount of money for it.

“Forty grand,” I said.

“You are not stealing it.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“You used your appraisal voice.”

“I don’t have an appraisal voice.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

I moved past the sculpture. “Maybe I was curious.”

“You’re supposed to be finding the safe.”

“I can do two things.”

“You can barely do the one.”

That was unfair. Okay, not entirely unfair, but still.

The podcast woman continued in my other ear, calm and pleasant and unaware that she’d become an accomplice.

Healthy boundaries begin when you decide what energy you allow into your personal space.

I stepped over a laser grid, waited for one of the rotating sensors to pass, then slipped beneath it and reached the keypad outside Theodore Donovan’s private office.

Donovan called himself a biotech investor. Which was technically true in the same way a grave robber could call himself an antiques dealer.

He funded research that legitimate laboratories wouldn’t touch. People disappeared into buildings attached to his companies and came back damaged, when they came back at all. Names became subject numbers. Injuries became adverse responses. Everything sounded cleaner once someone put it in a report.

I’d read enough of those reports to know I disliked him. That wasn’t why I took the job. It helped, though.

I had standards. Flexible standards. Standards with some room to bend, but they existed. I preferred stealing from people who deserved the inconvenience.

Donovan qualified.

“You doubted me?” I muttered.

Vega sighed. “Afgeleid door lelijke kunst. Natuurlijk.”

I didn’t speak Dutch, but the tone translated surprisingly well. I’d been judged. The trial had been brief.

“I’m choosing to believe that was praise.”

“It wasn’t.”

The keypad blinked red.

I pulled the cloned access card from my pocket and held it against the reader. “This thing better work.”

“I made it.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It’ll work.”

“You sound offended.”

“I am offended.”

The reader beeped. Green light. The lock released.

I smiled. Locks pretended to be complicated. Most things did when enough money had been spent on them.

The door still didn’t open. I pushed it. Nothing.

“Riven,” Vega said.

“I know.”

“You have to pull it.”

“I was checking the hinges.”

“You pushed twice.”

“The first one was the hinges. The second was confirmation.”

I pulled the door open. No one needed to discuss it further.

This was still getting too easy.

I remembered when robbing rich men involved guards, dogs, and at least one enormous man with a neck tattoo and an unfortunate attachment to the name Brutus.

Now it was technology. Keypads. Sensors. Cameras. Biometric scanners. Lots of expensive blinking lights meant to frighten people who didn’t know where the wires went.

To be fair, some of it was impressive. I simply preferred not to admit that while standing inside it.

Having Vega in my ear didn’t hurt either. She walked me through security systems, monitored the cameras, cloned access cards, and complained so constantly that I never had time to get nervous.

Vega was worth every dollar I paid her. Probably more. I’d take that observation to my grave.

The office was dark except for the city light coming through the windows.

Glass desk. Black leather chair. Everything sharp-edged and black or silver. The room looked less decorated than assembled.

Floor-to-ceiling windows covered one entire wall. Donovan had arranged his desk so the city spread beneath him whenever he looked up. Subtle.

I crossed the office and found the wall safe behind a painting that looked like somebody had dumped three cans of paint on a canvas and charged extra for the frame.

I stared at it longer than necessary.

“Riven Thatcher,” Vega warned.

“I’m working.”

“You’re looking at the painting.”

“I can work and suffer at the same time.”

Ten thousand, maybe. Twelve if the buyer had a loft, no curtains, and a need to explain art to people.

The safe was better made than the painting. At least Donovan had one sound investment.

“Found it,” I said.

“Yes.”

I waited. “That’s all?”

“What do you want, applause?”

“A little enthusiasm wouldn’t hurt.”

“You found the large safe behind the obvious painting.”

“Fine. Keep your applause.”

“Glasses, remember?”

Right. Again.

Thin black frames, tiny camera near the hinge, and absolutely no way to forget that Vega could see whatever I saw. Except I kept forgetting.

I went around the desk and reached for the middle drawer.

“Top left,” she said.

My hand changed direction. “I knew that.”

“You were reaching for the middle.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You changed it after I told you where to look.”

“That’s generally when people change their minds.”

“You’re testing my patience.”

“You know, I’m technically your boss. Show me some respect, woman.”

“Call me woman again and I’ll sound the alarms.”

I believed her. Vega’s threats had a concerning habit of being technically achievable.

I reached for the top-left drawer. Locked.

Cute. It took me six seconds to open it. Seven if Vega was counting, which she was, but the first second had been inspection and shouldn’t have counted.

Inside were contracts, an expensive fountain pen, and a small red velvet box. I opened the box.

Two silver cufflinks shaped like skulls stared back at me. Diamonds in the eye sockets.

“No,” Vega said.

“You don’t even know what I found.”

“You got quiet.”

“So?”

“You only go quiet when you find something you want.”

“That is completely untrue.”

“Is it small, ugly, and expensive?”

I picked up one cufflink. “Eight grand.”

“Put it back.”

“He has two.”

“That’s how cufflinks work.”

“I doubt he’d miss one.”

“He would notice when he tried to wear them.”

“That sounds like a future problem.”

“Riven.”

The podcast woman said, Remember, boundaries are not punishments. Boundaries are acts of self-respect.

I held the cufflink toward the camera in my glasses. “You hear that?”

“Put it down.”

“Very controlling.”

“Down.”

I put it back. Not because Vega told me to. Because stealing one cufflink was pointless. And because Vega told me to.

I pushed the box aside and found the key card underneath it. Donovan’s face stared up from the plastic, smiling like someone had just told him consequences were for other people.

There you are, Teddy. I slipped the card into my pocket.

The safe took longer. A lot longer.

I started to sweat around the twenty-second mark, which annoyed me. Not the difficulty. The sweating. There was nothing dignified about wiping your palm on another man’s desk while pretending his safe wasn’t winning.

“Do you want help?” Vega asked.

“No.”

“You’ve been on the wrong wire for twelve seconds.”

“I know.”

“You’re still touching it.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Think near the blue one.”

“I was getting there.”

“You were getting farther away.”

I moved to the blue wire. The lock clicked almost immediately.

I decided not to comment. Vega had enough victories.

The sound was still satisfying, though. Not like justice. That would’ve been dramatic, even for me. It sounded like a lock opening.

A very expensive lock that I had opened. With limited assistance.

I swung the safe door out and found the drive behind a stack of bearer bonds, several coded files, and a pistol Donovan had probably purchased because it looked good in the catalog.

“Got it.”

“Good. Now leave.”

The office door opened behind me. A security guard stepped inside with a gun in his hand.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

For one stupid second, neither of us did anything. I’d expected some warning, a footstep, a reflection in the window, Vega swearing in my ear. Instead, there he was, and there I was, holding stolen property beside an open safe like I’d posed for the security footage.

My heart slammed once against my ribs.

So much for confidence. A gun had a way of knocking the shine off it.

The podcast woman chose that moment to say, When someone violates your boundaries, it is okay to respond with firmness.

“Well,” I said. Nothing clever followed.

The guard raised the gun.

“That feels timely,” I added, because apparently that was the best my brain could produce under pressure.

I moved before he fired. My hip struck the edge of Donovan’s glass desk as I slid across it. Pain shot down my leg, sharp enough to make me miss the guard’s wrist the first time.

The first time. I caught it on the second.

I twisted hard, forced his arm away, and drove my shoulder into his chest. The gun hit the carpet. He tried to shout, but I shoved him face-first onto Donovan’s rug before he got much of it out.

He grunted.

I came down across his back, jammed my knee between his shoulder blades, and tried not to think about how close the gun had been to firing.

“Easy,” I said, breathing harder than the line deserved. “I feel like you’ve violated my boundaries.”

He tried to throw me off. He almost did. My hand slipped against his uniform, my knee shifted, and his shoulder came up hard enough to knock me off balance. I caught the chair before I went over and forced him down again.

Not my cleanest work. Fortunately, no one graded robberies on form.

Donovan had spent more on technology than training. The guard was strong but angry, and angry people made predictable choices. Usually.

Less than a minute later, I had him gagged and zip-tied to Donovan’s office chair.

One tie around each wrist. One around the ankles. Then another around the wrists because the first one looked questionable and I didn’t feel like finding out.

He was breathing. He was furious. His nose was bleeding onto his shirt.

“Riven,” Vega said.

“I’m responding with firmness.”

“You broke his nose.”

“He moved.”

“You hit him with a desk.”

“Technically, I hit the desk too.”

My hip was beginning to throb. I declined to mention it.

I crouched in front of the guard and patted his cheek. “Nothing personal, Rent-a-Cop.”

Vega made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “You named him?”

“I had to call him something.”

“You didn’t.”

“He seems like a Gary.”

The guard glared at me.

“No,” I decided. “Not Gary.”

“He has a name tag.”

I looked. Miller.

“Well, that ruins it.”

“You could’ve read that before inventing Rent-a-Cop.”

“I was busy.”

“With the joke?”

“With the gun, Vega.” Okay, so the words came out a little sharper than she deserved. But I was running on adrenaline.

Silence filled the comm. I looked away from Miller and adjusted the cuff against my wrist, though it didn’t need adjusting.

“Anyway,” I said. “Boundary.”

“That is not a boundary.”

I pointed between us. “He’s over there. I’m over here.”

“Riven.”

“That’s the basic concept.”

“You need help.”

“I’m listening to the podcast.”

“That isn’t helping.”

I left Miller tied to the chair.

He had air. His circulation looked fine. I checked twice, quickly enough that Vega couldn’t make anything of it. He’d be found soon. Probably.

The podcast woman had moved on to honoring emotional needs when I stepped back into the hallway.

I tapped my glasses. “Exit.”

“South stairwell,” Vega said. Her voice had gone flat and professional. “Two guards near the elevator. Another entering the east hall. Camera loop has one minute and twelve seconds.”

“Plenty.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m usually right.”

No answer. I disliked when she stopped arguing. It made me wonder whether I’d actually annoyed her. Or worried her. Annoyed was better, so I went with that.

I moved down the hall. The floors were polished enough to catch my reflection. I looked flushed. My hair had come loose near one temple, and the side of my jacket was bunched where I’d hit the desk.

I looked less impressive than I felt. No. That wasn’t right. I felt less impressive than I’d planned to look.

The south stairwell was locked. I used Donovan’s key card. The light turned green, and the door released.

Behind me, an alarm chirped.

I stopped. My stomach dropped. Well, that wasn’t good. Nothing huge. One tiny electronic sound. One tiny electronic sound that generally preceded armed men running in my direction.

Vega reacted immediately. “Tell me that wasn’t you.”

“That wasn’t me.” It probably was. I’d either tripped something with the key card or left a circuit open in the office. Possibly both.

“What did you do?”

“I reject the tone of that question.”

The alarm chirped again.

Then the hallway flooded red.

Lights strobed across the floor and walls. Very theatrical. Donovan could apparently fund human experimentation but still wanted his security breaches to look like nightclub openings.

“South stairwell is compromised,” Vega said.

“I gathered that.”

“Move.”

I did. The first guard came into the east hall with a radio near his mouth. Big shoulders. Shaved head. His shirt pulled too tightly across his chest.

Protein Shake. Not inspired, but there wasn’t time to workshop it.

“Stop!”

People always yelled stop. I wondered whether anyone had ever heard it while fleeing a crime and thought, Yeah, good point. I’ll stop immediately.

I hit the stairwell door with my shoulder and grabbed the rail. My boots skipped the first steps. I vaulted the next few and landed badly, pain snapping through both knees.

“Crap.”

Behind me, Protein Shake hit the door hard enough to crack something. Hopefully the frame. Possibly himself.

“Basement garage,” Vega said. “Black SUV, two rows from the service exit. Three minutes before local police are notified.”

“Three minutes? You spoil me.”

The words came out thin and breathless. It didn’t sound clever. It sounded like I was trying not to throw up a lung.

Vega didn’t laugh. She almost never laughed, but this silence felt deserved.

I took the stairs two at a time until my knee protested, then changed to one, then back to two when Protein Shake’s footsteps grew louder.

Somewhere around the third floor, I lost count. Somewhere around the second, I considered taking up a profession with elevators.

I hit the basement door and stumbled into the service corridor just as another guard rounded the corner. He had a flashlight in one hand and a taser in the other.

He also looked surprised to see me. That made two of us.

“Evening,” I said.

He lifted the taser. I swatted his arm aside, caught the weapon, and tried to pull it free. He didn’t let go. For an awkward second, we both stood there tugging on it.

“This is embarrassing,” I told him.

He tried to knee me. I twisted the taser out of his hand, switched it off, and shoved him into a laundry cart. He went over backward with a crash. A towel landed across his face.

“Healthy boundaries,” I called. It wasn’t funny. I knew it wasn’t funny while I said it, but apparently I’d committed to the theme.

“Stop saying that,” Vega snapped.

“I’m aware.”

“Are you?”

“I heard it that time.”

The SUV sat where she’d promised. I slid behind the wheel, shoved the key into the ignition, missed, swore, then got it on the second try. Behind me, the basement door slammed open.

Protein Shake had arrived. He looked less than happy. I started the engine and pulled away before he and Laundry Cart could organize.

The gate at the service exit began lowering.

I stared at it. “No.”

“Working on it,” Vega said.

The gate continued down. “Work faster.”

“Your criticism is not useful.”

“Neither is the gate.”

“Keep driving.”

“That seems like poor advice.”

“Trust me.”

That was the problem with Vega. She occasionally expected me to do that. The gate dropped lower. My hands tightened around the wheel.

“Vega.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Duck.”

I ducked and hit the gas. The SUV shot beneath the gate. For a second, I thought I’d made it clear. Then the windshield exploded.

Glass sprayed across the dashboard and into my hair. Metal screamed overhead. The roof scraped under the barrier, and something behind me tore loose with a sound that made me cringe.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Not smart. I opened them again immediately. The SUV fishtailed as it cleared the gate. I jerked the wheel too hard, corrected, then corrected again before the vehicle decided which direction it wanted to die in.

Then I was out. Night air rushed through the broken windshield.

I laughed. It was rough and loaded with too much panic.

“Riven?” Vega said.

“I’m fine.”

I checked myself. Hands. Face. Chest. Nothing wet except sweat. A shallow cut burned near my temple, but I could live with that.

Behind me, alarms wailed from Donovan’s tower. The building sounded offended.

Fair enough.

The drive was still in my pocket. I checked it with one hand, then checked again because the first time apparently hadn’t convinced me.

Still there. The SUV’s roof was not doing as well.

I merged into traffic, slowed to something close to legal, and took the first right. My hands shook against the wheel. Barely. Enough that I noticed.

I tightened my grip until they stopped.

In my ear, the podcast woman said something about peace. I stopped listening around ourselves.

I turned her down.

“Bad timing.”

Vega exhaled. “You’re clear.”

“I’m always clear.”

“You were nearly trapped in a garage.”

“Nearly is doing a lot of work there.”

Vega went quiet again.

I could’ve said something useful. Sorry, maybe. Or thank you. Both felt oddly inadequate for the moment.

“So,” I said, “I assume you’re impressed.”

“I assume you have glass in your hair.”

“That too.”

“Come to the lab. I want to verify the files before you deliver them to the client.”

Back to business. Good. Business was easier.

The client had paid fifty thousand for whatever sat on that drive. Donovan’s secrets, research records, names, something valuable enough that the client didn’t offer much information and I didn’t ask many questions. The money was too good.

Not a bad night’s work. I’d made decent money, embarrassed a billionaire, wrecked a vehicle I didn’t own, and left several guards with reasons to reconsider their career choices.

My hip hurt. My knees hurt. Something small and sharp had worked its way down the back of my shirt. But I was alive, and the drive was intact.

That counted as success.

Men like me didn’t get peaceful endings to productive nights. That sounded like something the podcast woman would say if her life had taken a few bad turns.

Mostly, we got another job. Another problem. Another person insisting this one would be simple.

But the city stretched ahead of me, bright and ordinary, and for a minute I decided to believe the night was over. I was going to drop off the drive, go home, pick glass out of places glass had no business being, and sleep until noon.

Maybe one.

Nothing was about to change.

Sure, Riven.