“Oh, I trust that man with my life,” the old woman says, touching her nose. “But, I trust a young noble like Lambert to be more sharp-witted. After all, he is a ‘self-made’ man. Those are the ones you must look out for.”
“Damned new rich,” Rhea nearly shouts at that. “He’s bound to overcompensate and be too cocky.”
“And that’s why I’m taking no chances, dear.”
—-
Rhea leans against the palm tree, arms crossed, with her ears perked and ready for any strange deviation in the night's sounds.
Next to her, Yousseff sits, meditative, his head lowered. Or perhaps he’s also asleep.
It’s difficult to tell, and she won’t break the Demoneater’s concentration.
After all, the heist should be simple enough. Having the connections, Osman was in the larger of the two main buildings. Like any rich prick, Lambert has his estate sprawling and filled with ostentations that would make anyone remember that those with means have no goodwill. In the main mansion, the sounds and scents of the guests’ revelry waft over. The party is loud and boisterous and most definitely far too decadent.
And she has to listen to all of it because she’s the lookout.
Her ears twitch, and her tail flicks when Yousseff shifts and looks up at her. “You are distracting my meditation.”
Rhea apologizes and slips away, heading further from the party house and closer toward the smaller but still sizable adjacent building.
Fateena and Imran are in there already, if all is going to plan, having broken through the first lock on a second-story window into the office of some clerical worker. Even so, there are guards around the perimeter, armed and ready to protect the purchased treasures that the dragon of a man has hoarded. Osman had said they were from the Carter Company—a foreign security force imported more because of their exotic nature that the wealth can show off rather than their effectiveness against the local criminal element here. Even so, they are costly for a reason—they have a track record of being perceptive, at least that’s what Osman had said.
Osman has made many claims in their meeting, having infiltrated Lambert’s staff and even supposedly making it into his good graces. That’s why he’s at the party right now, no doubt wining and dining and keeping all of the party-goers and their hosts interested in the pleasures and treasures that could be had in the main building, where no doubt the more simple and shiny of ill-gotten riches were stored.
Not so with their prize.
Rhea freezes, her ears perking up. The sound of sand shifting and metal clinking in rhythmic motions tells her she is not alone. She slowly reaches for a dagger, crouching where she can, her cloak helping to conceal her in the darkness.
The one who arrives is dressed in heavy armor. It gleams and shines, reflecting the light of his lantern as he looks around his immediate environment. Such a loud and noisome presence is perfect for a thief to hide, and the nonchalance he waves his lam around shows either inexperience or disinterest in his current job.
Security is numerous, but it is relaxed, just as Osman had explained.
Rhea smiles as the guard passes her. This means things are going well, and his intelligence has been quite good.
Once the guard disappears into the darkness and his armor clanking fades among the sounds of delight, Rhea stands up, a shadow given form, keeping her senses attuned toward the vault building.
But that is when she feels the cold metal pressing against her throat and the body pressing up from behind her.
“If you value your life,” the mystery assassin whispers to her ear, “you’ll tell me what it is you are doing here.”
Rhea’s nose twitches, her body clenched tightly, avoiding the desire to move and strike against this newcomer.
“Struggle and the whole complex will know of you,” her attacker hisses. Now, state your business quickly.”
“W-who are you, ah!” She gasps as the blade presses against her, just on the precipice of cutting. She can’t even breathe lest she finish the process.
“That’s what I want to know about you. State your business.”
 This person is different from the previous guard—sneaky and effective. Could this be the work of the Carter Company, or is it something else entirely? There’s no way of knowing, so she speaks. “I’m just a thief looking for trinkets to take. That’s all!”
The mysterious shadow lessens the blade's pressure, a soft chuckle in their voice. “Just a thief? Well, aren’t you lucky?”
Rhea turns around, slowly, gradually, only to see the figure clad all in dark blue, their features concealed, holding out a collection of jewels and gems, rivaling, perhaps even surpassing, the haul Rhea had just obtained.
“The master of the house extends this to anyone brave enough to attempt to steal from him. It’ll be more than enough to satisfy any starving street urchin. Take it and go with his blessing.”
It was a royal sum for one living on the streets. As Rhea looked at the valuables offered, the possibilities of this interaction ran through her mind. What would happen if she took them? Were they cursed? How about this stranger? Would they leave her be or stab her in the back as she runs? And there’s the possibility that this one would also alert the other guards, tightening security.
“I know it must be strange to see such generosity,” the stranger admits, “But the master wishes for no distractions from his party and is not beneath peaceful resolutions to such attempts this time.”