Rhea makes her way through the city streets, following the old backroads and main streets in a winding and wayward way that looks normal to a casual observer but will surely confuse and lose any potential followers. This is how it has always been to make it to the hideout, a nondescript corner of the town, hidden from ordinary civilians in plain sight, almost as if it doesn’t even exist, mixed with the other storefronts and residential buildings.
The shade is comforting when she enters, but she keeps on her traveler’s gear. Who knows when one might need to escape quickly back into the streets? The last thing one needs is to stick out.
The old feline is sitting in the old sitting room, rocking in a chair, enjoying her golden years in simple relaxation. A warm drink is steaming in a cup she holds in her apparently shaking hand.
“Hello, Bibi,” Rhea says, stepping forth and respecting Zahra properly. “I have something for you.”
“That’s good, that’s good,” says the old woman, taking the bundle of gems from her and weighing them steadily. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Speaking of home—I hear you have a few guests and are looking for room for one more?”
The old cat twitched her whiskers and nodded. “Oh yes. They should be arriving any minute now. It shall be good to have you here. Please, make yourself at home.”
“That’ll be easy,” Rhea responds, admiring the small trinkets and the scent of spices the older generation loves to add to their abodes. The nostalgia is comforting.
A knock on the door—the particular knock—precedes shortly the arrival of a tall and mature male gemsbok. He lowers his hood when he arrives, nodding his head to both.
“Osman, right?” Rhea says, a teasing smirk on her face.
“And you must be Rhea. Ah, it is good to see you,” he says, a gregarious grin.
“So, this job’s good?” Rhea asks.
“Very, very. Lambert is young and foolish. His security is expensive, but that doesn’t make it good.”
“Good enough to warrant a team of five,” says Zahra, nodding.
A second knock heralds the arrival of two more members, a pair coming in hand-in-hand. The female, a Jerboa,  is carrying tools and pouches of gear, and the male, a Honey Badger, is following close behind her, adjusting his glasses.
“Ah, the lovebirds!” Rhea says.
“Let’s hope Fateena and Imran are not too distracted with each other for this, eh?” Osman says, holding his hand up to receive praise from Rhea.
It is praise she does not give as she turns toward Zahra. “And there’s one more to join the crew?”
“That would be me.” The voice comes from right behind Rhea. The feline thief spins around, her blade at the ready, but the cobalt snake stares at her with an undeterred glare of golden eyes.
“I don’t know you,” says Rhea, her voice flat and cold.
Zahra speaks up, motioning to the newcomer. “This is Yousseff. He’s an expert I hired for this case in particular.
“I am, in essence, the getaway,” the mage hisses. However, I also specialize in arcane mechanisms and magical traps.”
“I can help with magical traps,” pipes Imran, though the lover’s voice is overwhelmed by the newcomer's presence.
“There may be many here, considering the nature of our prize,” Yousseff says. “Shall we begin our discussions now?”
Zahra nods. “We’re all here. With Rhea among your number, it is almost as good as having myself on the team in my prime.”
Rhea stands tall at that, but she keeps her eye on Yousseff.
The snake waves a hand in front of him, and a light show of magical illusion fills the center of the room. There, treasures of all shapes and sizes appear, cycling through images of gems, gold, and jewels, moving onto devices of arcane significance, and then to precious pieces of art from all around.
Osman steps up to motion at the images. “Raza Lambert can’t help but collect and display the many treasures that fill his collection. He will show these valuables off soon so they aren’t locked up in his vault. Even if we can only pick out a few key pieces, we should be able to come out richer beyond our wildest dreams.”
Yousseff stopped his display upon an ornate container. “I am in as long as I can obtain this one. The Flask of Dasim.”
“Dasim…” repeats Rhea. “Where have I heard that name before.”
“Probably from some baseless story,” barks Osman.
“Not one I would have told, adds Zahra. “Dasim is a powerful demon, sealed away by the tenuous grasp of a magical item.”
Fateena piques up, bouncing on her toes. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re not who I think you are, are you?”
Youseff quirks a brow ridge, looking toward his companion. “It seems my reputation is beginning to precede me. If you believe me to be the Demoneater, you are correct.”
The two lovers whistle at that.
Rhea looks at her grandmother. “Bibi,” she whispers, can I talk to you?”
“Certainly,” says the old woman, hopping up with much more alacrity than her age would suggest. They walk off into the kitchen, where Rhea confronts her, a worried hush to her voice. “Why is there a renowned mage here? What exactly are you expecting us to find in Lambert’s treasury?”
Zahra smiles and places her hand on her grandaughter’s shoulder. “I expect to find more than Osman said we would find there.”
“You don’t trust Osman?”