Dylan rapped three times on the door of the high rise penthouse. Its gilded surface receded and was replaced by a hulking brute in a black leather jacket.

“She’s expecting us,” Dylan said, nodding to Brayden.

Shay’s bodyguard grunted in affirmation and stood aside. Brayden trailed behind his mentor of sorts as they descended a shallow set of wide circular steps into the heart of the main room.

“Wait there,” the brute instructed. “I’ll go get her.”

Moments later, Shay paced into the main room from behind a towering row of decorative columns. Her hair resembled a torch to the young man – fiery red next to the scalp and light orange near the tips. It stood up from her head in a wispy flame.

“Ah,” Shay said in a refined tone. “Thank you, Dylan.”

Her charcoal slacks and matching jacket did little to hide the contours of her older but highly toned figure.

“I can’t say that I’m overly impressed with the outcome of your first contract.”

Brayden forced the knot in his throat back down. “I’m sorry, Shay. I know it –“

“Shut up and listen,” the Faction leader said, pouring herself a drink at the wet bar. “Half of New Plesto’s finest are on a manhunt for you right now. They wrecked two cycles and shot up three buildings downtown.”

Brayden lifted his hands to offer up an excuse, but Shay waved it off with her tumbler.

“Nevertheless,” she said, approaching him in slow deliberate strides, “you got the job done.” She stopped a few inches from his face, took a nip of her tonic, and set the glass on a nearby table. “I have another contract for you.”

Brayden couldn’t read through her aristocratic accent, or the thin smirk on her freckled face.

“It’s something a tad easier,” she said. Her green stare pierced his soul. “It will give things here time to cool off.”

The young thief curled his fingers over the clammy palms in his coat pockets. “What’s the job?”

Shay strode around him in a calculated orbit. “I want you to recover an artifact from an Empyran temple for me.”

Brayden’s frustration found its way to the surface. “Those guys are washed up has-beens. That’s hardly a –“

“Job worth doing to regain my trust,” Shay said, completing the thought for him.

He huffed and turned his eyes out onto the twinkling lights of the nighttime cityscape. “Who wants this old junk?”

Shay glided into a seat on the semi-circular white sofa and sipped her tonic. “A private broker who wishes to remain anonymous.” She swirled the last ounce of her drink as she spoke. “I want it recovered and delivered to me personally within two days. The temple is out west of the city. It’s a big place. You can’t miss it.”

Dylan cleared his throat. “Let’s hope not.”