Chapter Eight: The Quiet Before the Storm

Reina’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the bluish glow of her monitors flickering against her face like restless lightning. Elias stood behind her, arms crossed, the light painting his features in cold lines. The room around them was quiet except for the steady click of keys and the soft whirr of servers stacked near the far wall.

They’d been at it for hours already. Reina’s laptop was tethered to two auxiliary machines, each running scripts and packet simulations that Elias could half-recognize. She didn’t explain every step—didn’t need to. He was there to guide, to catch what others might miss, to understand the logic behind the system rather than the code itself.

Sentracore systems had been built to keep people like Reina out. Watching her dismantle the perimeter was like watching someone play chess blindfolded—half instinct, half genius.

“Okay, port handshake is complete,” she murmured. “We’ve got a heartbeat from the auxiliary node, but I can’t maintain the connection longer than twenty seconds.”

Elias leaned over, scanning the stream of numbers. “You don’t need to. Use it to request a diagnostic handshake. The node will echo back and think it’s local maintenance.”

Reina gave a small grin. “You’re good.”

She tapped another key, the thrum of the external drives rising. The code rolled down the screen like falling water. Twenty seconds later, one of the smaller monitors blinked—a clean system log appeared.

“Got it,” Elias said quietly.

Reina sat back with a low whistle. “Welcome to the sandbox, baby.”

They both exhaled, the tension that had gripped the air slowly bleeding away. Elias hadn’t realized how tight his shoulders had been until that moment. He looked at Reina, who cracked her knuckles and settled deeper into the chair.

“That’s our door,” she said. “A tiny one. But it’ll do.”

He nodded, watching the screen flash steady green. A maintenance-mode connection. Just long enough for their team to piggyback on.

“Naomi!” Reina called. “You might want to see this!”

Naomi appeared from the far side of the studio, where Marcus and Samuel were reviewing gear on a table. She crossed the space quietly, her steps light but deliberate. Elias couldn’t help noticing how calm she seemed even now—the eye of the storm that had yet to arrive.

Reina swiveled the chair around. “We’re in. Limited access, but it’s clean.”

Naomi leaned forward, scanning the feed. “And the trace?”

“Ghosted. The system thinks it’s an internal diagnostic from their central unit.”

Naomi smiled faintly. “Good work, both of you.” Her gaze met Elias’s, and something softened there—gratitude mingled with recognition.

Reina stretched, already pulling out her headset. “I’ll keep refining the tunnel, make sure we can reopen it tomorrow during the gala. I’ll need about an hour to build the redirect.”

Naomi nodded. “Alright, get to it then.”

As Reina returned to her work, Naomi turned to Elias. “Come with me,” she said quietly.

He followed her through a narrow hallway lined with stacked crates and cables. The air smelled faintly of metal and dust. She led him into a small adjoining room—once an office, maybe—now cleared out except for a desk and two mismatched chairs. A single lamp burned on the table, its yellow light casting long shadows.

Naomi sat first, motioning for him to join.

He hesitated, still coming down from the adrenaline of the hack. “I’m guessing this isn’t a coffee break.”

Her smile was gentle. “No. I wanted to thank you.”

He frowned slightly. “For doing what you asked me to do?”

“For trusting us enough to try,” she said. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

He exhaled, leaning back in the chair. “Trust might be a strong word.”

“Maybe,” she said softly. “But you could’ve walked away. You didn’t.”

He stared at the tabletop, tracing one of the scratches in the wood. “Maybe I just didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Naomi’s voice lowered. “Sometimes that’s where real beginnings hide.”

For a while neither spoke. The distant hum of the city filtered through the cracked window—sirens far away, someone shouting on the street, a car door slamming. Life continued outside, indifferent to what was being planned in this forgotten space.

Naomi broke the silence. “Elias, I need to ask you something. Have you decided what you want to do after this?”

He looked up. “After the heist, you mean?”

She nodded.

He hesitated. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. One step at a time.”

“I understand,” she said. “But this… what we’re doing here… it’s only the beginning. You’ve seen enough to know the world isn’t what it looks like. There are things hidden beneath it—truths buried deeper than time. If you want to learn what they are, you’ll need to come with me.”

He frowned. “Come with you where?”

“To meet the Elder,” she said. “In Bhutan.”

He blinked. “Bhutan? As in… the country?”

“Yes.”

For a moment he thought she was joking, but her face was calm, almost serene. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “When you first mentioned meeting the Elder, I thought maybe another city—D.C., Chicago, something like that. Not halfway across the world.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Naomi, I can’t just disappear. I have a job—”

“You said yourself Sentracore put you on unpaid leave after Clara’s passing.” Her tone was gentle, not accusatory. “You told me your bills are piling up, and I know that you have no family nearby. I’m not saying that to hurt you, Elias. But sometimes life closes one door so another can open.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. The mention of Clara’s name still hit like a knife, even after seven weeks.

Naomi leaned forward slightly. “I’m not trying to push you. But if you truly want to understand your dreams—the memories—you’ll find the answers there. The Elder has helped people like you before.”

He met her gaze. “People like me?”

“Those who remember pieces of other lives,” she said. “Those who can’t stop dreaming.”

He tried to speak but stopped, unsure what words could carry the weight of what he felt. Everything in him was split—reason against instinct, grief against hope.

Naomi’s expression softened further. “You don’t have to decide now. Help us with the heist, then think about it. If you choose to walk away after, I’ll make sure you’re safe. But if you come with me…”

She paused, searching for the right words. “…then the truth will finally stop running from you.”

Elias’s chest felt heavy. He wanted to believe her, wanted to trust that there was something beyond the endless loop of loss that his life had become. But trust was hard.

He looked at her and said quietly, “I don’t have anyone left here. Clara was my last tie. Maybe this is all that’s left for me.”

Naomi reached out, almost hesitated, then placed her hand lightly on his arm. “You have more ahead of you than behind, Elias. You just don’t see it yet.”

The warmth of her touch lingered even after she drew her hand back.

He forced a small smile. “Then I guess I’ll help as much as I can. Tell me what you need.”

Naomi’s shoulders relaxed—just a little. “For now, nothing. We’re reviewing the final plan in a few minutes. You should join us.”

“When do you plan to execute the heist?” he asked.

“He’s hosting a charity gala at his Manhattan penthouse tomorrow. That’s our window,” she said. “Politicians, celebrities, the whole New York elite will be there. It’s our one chance to get close without raising suspicion.”

Elias frowned. “And you have an invitation?”

“I do.”

He tried to imagine her in that world of silk dresses and champagne, and it felt oddly natural—she had the poise for it. Still, the idea of her walking into danger dressed for a gala twisted his stomach.

Naomi seemed to read the thought in his eyes and smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. I’ve done worse in higher heels.”

He chuckled despite himself. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Come on,” she said, rising. “Let’s go over the plan.”

The main room was alive with motion when they returned. Maps and digital layouts of the penthouse glowed across Reina’s monitors. Marcus and Julian were bent over blueprints spread across the table. Valerie was on the phone, probably confirming transport logistics. Samuel stood near the window, scribbling notes on a tablet.

Naomi clapped her hands once. “Alright, let’s review.”

Reina didn’t look up from her screen. “The gala starts at six p.m. tomorrow. Security’s internal sync cycle hits at six forty-five. That gives us a fifteen-minute buffer where Elias’s diagnostic window will mask all system traffic. After that, every feed and sensor reverts to live monitoring.”

Marcus leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “So we’ve got fifteen minutes to get in, crack the vault, and disappear before the alarms start screaming.”

Naomi nodded. “The artifact is in a private vault on the third floor—the master bedroom suite. That level’s off-limits to guests; only the owner and his direct security detail have clearance.”

Julian spoke next, calm and precise. “Access is through a biometric lock tied to a portable security drive. Reina will feed a spoofed authorization once Naomi and I are upstairs. Inside the vault there’s a display case with an internal pressure sensor—standard protocol for high-value artifacts. I can bypass it, but I’ll need a clean minute.”

Reina finally looked up. “Which means no one breathes near the thing until I give the all-clear. The case is glass composite; any vibration trips the seal.”

Naomi pointed to the blueprint spread across the table. “Floors one and two are shared guest areas—bar, gallery, and the balcony overlooking Central Park. Marcus and Julian will be operating as support staff. Stay invisible. If anything goes wrong, you cover the service elevator and emergency stairwell.”

Samuel added, “Reina will be running the network intrusion from a suite two floors down. I’ll monitor comms and timing from inside the party. Naomi and I both have separate invitations—different circles, different covers. No interaction once we’re in.”

Valerie, perched on the edge of a desk, twirled a keyring around her finger. “I’ll handle extraction. Van’s staged in the underground garage, two blocks south. Once you have the package, you take the service elevator down to the restricted corridor. There’s a side exit that feeds straight to the alley; I’ll be waiting there. Reina can jam the street cameras for twenty seconds tops.”

Marcus smirked. “Plenty of time, if no one trips.”

Naomi added the final operational detail, voice low and precise. “Julian will be the one to enter the bedroom and remove the artifact. He’ll open the vault, bypass the pressure lock, and lift the piece—it’s roughly the size of an iPad, shouldn't be much heavier than it looks—then wrap it in a protective safe cover and carry it against his chest. I will remain on the third floor, in the immediate vicinity, to keep watch and intercept anyone who unexpectedly approaches the suite. Marcus will stage by the service elevator and emergency stair to escort us out if needed. Timing is everything: Julian has one clean minute at the case; we cannot risk more.”

Reina tapped the keyboard once, bringing up a small timeline overlay. “Everything synchronizes to that fifteen-minute window. If connection holds and the spoof holds, Julian gets in, Naomi keeps the perimeter, Julian gets out wrapped, and the team moves the package to the van through the service corridor. No heroics. No improvisation beyond protocol.”

They all looked at one another—faces set, focused. The plan was tight and cold and precise, like a blade. It would either work perfectly, or everything would burn.

Elias listened, absorbing the rhythm of professionals who knew exactly what they were doing. Each role fit like a cog in a machine. He felt both impressed and uneasy—these people weren’t improvising thieves; they were soldiers on a sacred mission.

Naomi’s gaze swept the group. “Everyone clear?”

A series of nods.

Then Valerie spoke. “What about him?” She nodded toward Elias.

The room quieted again.

Naomi looked at him, then back to the team. “He’s not part of the field crew. His job’s done once the connection’s stable.”

But Samuel tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe not. If he’s nearby, he can act as your cover. And if something goes wrong mid-operation, he might even be able to help.”

Naomi hesitated. “You’re suggesting I bring him inside?”

Samuel’s lips curved. “You already have an extra invitation, don’t you?”

Naomi frowned slightly. “You mean as my—”

“Date,” Samuel said, finishing for her, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Reina laughed softly without looking up. “Now that’s what I call camouflage.”

Elias blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”

Naomi’s expression flickered somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Samuel thinks I should bring you as my guest. It would make sense, actually—no one questions a plus-one at a gala.”

Elias rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re serious.”

Marcus chuckled. “You clean up well, right? Black suit, tie, maybe you’ll even enjoy yourself before the real work begins.”

Naomi shot Marcus a look that quieted him instantly, then turned back to Elias. “You don’t have to, but it might be helpful if you’re there with us. The more people we have inside, the better.”

He hesitated, the absurdity of it all catching up with him—a few days ago he’d been a grieving widower staring at unpaid bills; now he was being invited to pose as the date of an archaeologist-turned-thief at a billionaire’s gala.

Still, he found himself nodding. “Alright. I’ll go.”

By evening, the studio was almost unrecognizable. The blueprints had been rolled up, the computers dimmed, cables coiled neatly along the wall. The tension that had filled the space all day had softened into something looser, almost warm—the quiet resonance that settles in after purpose finds its rhythm.

Marcus had pulled a few folding chairs together in a circle near the center of the room, where an old space heater buzzed gently. The air smelled faintly of coffee and sweat—the scent of people who’d been working too long and had finally decided to stop pretending they weren’t tired.

Julian was the first to break the mood. He’d found a half-finished bottle of whiskey in a crate somewhere and was pouring shots into paper cups. “To tomorrow,” he said, raising his. “And to not getting caught.”

Reina snorted. “I’ll drink to that.”

Even Marcus cracked a grin. “You should’ve led with the not dying part.”

They laughed—the kind of laughter that comes not from humor but from the need to feel alive before a risk. Elias found himself smiling too, despite the exhaustion sitting deep in his bones.

He sat between Reina and Samuel, listening as the team’s banter circled the room like a low, steady current. Marcus told a story about an op gone wrong in Istanbul years ago—how a pigeon had triggered their motion sensor before they could even plant the device. Reina countered with her own story about crashing a defense server in Dubai from a hotel bathroom while security guards knocked on the wrong door.

Valerie laughed until tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes. Even Naomi, who usually kept a quiet, steady composure, was smiling—her eyes softer, her shoulders relaxed.

Elias felt a sudden, unfamiliar sense of belonging. He wasn’t sure when it had happened—somewhere between the hack and the plan and Naomi’s quiet words about destiny—but the invisible wall he’d kept around himself had begun to thin.

“So what about you, Elias?” Valerie asked, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve been sitting there quiet as a ghost. Any good stories from your old days?”

He shook his head. “Nothing worth telling. Mostly computers and late nights.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what your record says. Two tours in Afghanistan before that, right?”

Elias’s expression flickered. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” Julian said softly. “That explains the thousand-yard stare.”

He gave a small, self-conscious smile. “That explains a lot of things.”

The group fell into a respectful silence for a beat—not pitying, but acknowledging. Marcus gave a small nod, the kind only soldiers understand.

Naomi, from across the circle, said quietly, “You’ve carried a lot, haven’t you?”

Elias shrugged. “We all carry something.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, and for a second he wondered if she could see more than she should—the grief, the guilt, the memories still gnawing at the back of his mind.

Valerie broke the pause with a grin. “Okay, too serious. New rule—no war stories tonight. Tomorrow we play ghosts and thieves, tonight we’re just people.”

They all murmured their agreement, the moment dissolving into lighter talk.

Samuel, who had been quiet most of the evening, leaned toward Elias. “She’s right. It helps to forget who you are for a night.”

Elias gave a small smile. “Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to do all along.”

Samuel’s eyes held something wise and distant. “Then you’re already one of us.” He continued, his deep and calming voice filling the space between them, “The Order's history courses through my family's veins, a lineage unbroken from our ancient roots in Italy to this very city. There are whispers in the blood, Elias, that tell me you are exactly where you are meant to be.”

Elias simply stared with a smile, the sheer weight of generations, of ancient roots and whispers, suddenly very real. He didn't know how to respond, only that the words felt true.

Later, the laughter faded into low voices, the smell of whiskey and coffee giving way to the sharper scent of cleaning solution as Reina wiped down her keyboards one last time. The clock on the wall showed almost midnight.

One by one, they began to drift toward their corners of the loft. Marcus unrolled a sleeping bag near the wall. Valerie stretched out on the couch, phone in hand. Reina curled up in a nest of cables and blankets near her monitors.

Elias found Naomi by the small counter, rinsing a cup. Her movements were slow, almost meditative.

“Long day,” he said softly.

She glanced back with a faint smile. “You did well today. Everyone did.”

He hesitated, then said, “Naomi… do you still have any of that tea from last night?”

She looked up, surprised. “The herbal mix?”

“Yeah. Whatever it was, it helped me sleep.”

Her smile faded slightly, replaced by something gentler. “It’s not a good idea to use it often.”

“Why not?”

“It’s potent,” she said. “Helps the mind open, but it can become addictive. Too much, and it blurs the line between memory and dream. You start seeing what you want to see.”

He nodded slowly. “So it’s not just herbs.”

She met his gaze. “No. Not just herbs.”

A small pause stretched between them. The room around them was quiet now—just the faint purr of the heater and the distant rush of cars below.

Naomi set the cup aside and stepped closer. “Try to rest without it tonight. Tomorrow will take everything you’ve got.”

“I’ll try.”

He turned toward his makeshift bed in the smaller room—the same mattress on the floor, the same flickering light through the thin curtain.

Before he left, Naomi spoke again. “Elias?”

He looked back.

“Thank you.”

He nodded once, the word catching somewhere in his chest. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The room was dim, the city light leaking faintly through the cracks in the blinds. Elias lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. The sounds of the others settling in—Marcus’s steady breathing, Valerie’s quiet crooning, Reina’s keyboard clicking one last time—blurred together into a soft rhythm.

His mind, though, refused to quiet.

He thought about the past week: Boston, the professor, Dr. Maren, Clara’s absence, and the dreams that had begun to merge with waking life. He thought about Naomi’s voice, the calm certainty with which she spoke of destiny and lost orders and ancient stones.

It was madness, all of it. And yet, beneath the chaos, there was something that made a strange kind of sense.

He remembered Sigrid’s words from the dream: Being chosen always comes with sacrifice.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

Maybe this was what she meant.

The warmth of the room, the faint sound of rain beginning to patter against the window, the murmur of distant laughter from Valerie and Reina—all of it wrapped around him like a fragile cocoon.

For the first time in years, Elias didn’t dread tomorrow.

He turned on his side, letting his thoughts dissolve one by one until they were just ripples fading into still water. The hum of the heater filled the silence.

And then, finally, he drifted into sleep—deep, dreamless, and still.