Night descended like a velvet shroud, engulfing the world in frigid November obscurity. Erratic streetlights twinkled like distant stars, casting deep shadows across barren curbs and unfeeling bricks. Only a sliver of crescent lunar arc peeked into the infinite sky above, partially obscured by scudding, shapeless clouds. A siren warbled briefly, threatening but rendered impotent by distance.

Warm dry air washed over Selene, issuing forth from the heating ducts like the intimate breath of a lover. The engine idled with a low vibration, permeating her being, a tingling that crawled up her cramped legs through her centre to thrum behind tense shoulders. Behind, she sensed the careful movement of Charlie and Vance, preparing the final equipment. Ahead, down the wide avenue, two lovers crossed the street hand in hand under a flickering streetlamp, laughing in drunken abandon. At this hour, no vehicles, save the utility van, disturbed the preternatural quiet. The lovers’ breath steamed into the cold air, entwined in intimate clouds before they kissed in the middle of the street, standing directly on the yellow asphalt markings.

Henry tensed beside Selene, his eyes following the couple like a hunter sensing prey and his breathing became soft and shallow. Silently, Selene reached over the tattered seat to touch Henry’s arm gently. His bicep radiated heat into her cool fingertips before she withdrew. He ignored her touch, his eyes never leaving the unwelcome interlopers. As the drunken guy and the ill-dressed blonde broke their illicit embrace and finished crossing the road to finally disappear into the darkness, Henry relaxed again.

Behind Selene, she sensed Charlie and Vance finalising the equipment, their movements precise and professional. Turning her attention from Henry, Selene verified her own monotonous inventory. Where the warmth of the heater touched her feet, black canvas shoes adorned arches more suited to high heels. Pliant rubberised soles rested securely against the inflexible car mat. A tight black lycra body suit sheathed her curves from her slim ankles to the base of her throat. The suit permitted her perfect freedom of movement, but reflected little light. The neckline revealed no glimmer of her pale skin beneath. She held up her hands, flexing her fingers, only shadows in the faint light of the nearest streetlamp. The black gloves, her second skin, shone dully, hiding red painted nails and abnormally strong fingers beneath. With the precise movements of a martial artist, she touched the seat beside her thigh. Even through the thin fabric of the gloves, her sensitive fingertips found the dim outline of Cody’s small tool case and the last fragment of fabric to complete her ebony fashion ensemble. Butterflies flittered in her stomach. She willed her right leg from twitching and chased the butterflies away. Now or never: an onyx shadow in the welcome embrace of night.

Beside her, Henry, similarly dressed in featureless black, glanced at a black watch on a black leather band upon his left wrist. Charlie and Vance had ceased all movements in the back of the van. Other than the quiet rumble of the engine, the world extended silently before Selene, the wayward lovers long disappeared; only the frosty November night remained as witness. Henry glanced left and right, only once, then switched off the engine.

“Let’s go,” Henry barked. His voice issued harsh and gruff.

With that, Henry reached for the door handle and slipped out. The interior dome, long broken, refused to illuminate the cabin. Behind her, she heard the back doors of the van open and the movement of two bodies and equipment before the door closed quietly.

A powerful sense of foreboding threatened to overwhelm her, but inhaling deeply, she watched her breath steam forth as she emptied her lungs with a modicum of control. With long practised motions, she grabbed the black fabric on the seat beside her, slipped it over her brunette hair and pulled the mask of the balaclava over her face. Only her eyes shone brightly in the dim light. Last chance. She hesitated only for a moment. Steeling herself, she reached for the door handle, slipped her five foot eight frame to the pavement, carefully closed the door to prevent sharp noises and joined the others in the shadows between the closest street lamps.

“Last time,” she whispered into the uncaring night. “This is the last time.”

Inside it would be warmer. That thought compelled her frozen fingers through their thankless task. She crouched in the shadows, straining her eyes to see the keyslot. Her gloves, her second skin, slipped on the narrow pick. Cursing, she raised the fabric to her mouth and breathed out, the warmth of her breath thawing her fingertips a little, steam rising from between her sheathed fingers. Behind her, the men waited, only Vance’s eyes slowly scanning the street, the remainder drilling into her spine as she worked. Glancing over her shoulder, the set of Henry’s body screamed impatience, his fingers twitching by his black-clad thigh.

For a moment, she considered the danger of an alarm, but Charlie simply leaned against the bricks, arms crossed, his breath neither fast nor slow.

Taking a deep breath of her own, she bit her lip beneath the balaclava and raised the thin pick again, inserting it into the lock.

“Come on, Cody. Please,” she whispered under her breath. “Please.”

Her fingers continued to work, each immeasurable bump spinning a tale through black fabric into her fingertips. Like Cody had taught her. A tale, a journey, a path. It was like reading a braille treasure map; this map led to blessed warmth and unimaginable riches.

With a final deft twist of her wrist, an audible click echoed through the frigid air. Behind her at the sound of the lock disengaging, Henry jumped forward; Selene permitted her breath out slowly. She hadn’t realised that she was even holding her breath. Charlie’s gloved left hand reached past Selene’s face before she could straighten, preventing Henry from opening the steel door. His right hand carried a heavy looking briefcase.

“Easy, mate,” Charlie breathed. Tones of Sydney shivered over Selene. “We don’t want to be unprepared, now, do we?” Selene smelled the faint taste of peppermint through Charlie’s balaclava as he leaned downwards to place his face near hers. His eyes twinkled merrily. “Good job, lassie.”

“It was Cody,” she murmured.

Charlie laughed kindly. “That was all you, lassie. All you.”

Slowly, Selene rose out of her crouch, leaving Charlie’s hand resolutely on the doorknob. Her thighs complained. Charlie straightened with her until their eyes met, level. Charlie’s eyes twinkled once more, and without further words, he opened the heavy door only enough to admit his thin frame. He slipped inside and the door snicked shut behind him. Neither alarms nor sirens split the night. Only the soft breathing of Vance and Henry vibrated the cold air. Somewhere to the south, a window or a door banged, and then silence descended again.

Cold, Selene glanced longingly at the van across the avenue, then resignedly crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned against the harsh bricks as Charlie had only moments before. Residual heat kissed her shoulder blades through the body suit, but it wouldn’t last, she knew. Trying not to shiver, she closed her eyes against the crescent of the moon and opted to do the only thing she could: wait.

The sound of a gunshot startled Selene. Her eyes flew open and instinctively, she began to crouch again, to avoid any bullets. As the sound echoed faintly from stark bricks and steel, a warm sliver of air washed over her right arm. Faint amber light issued from a crack to her right. Suddenly Henry moved forward, reaching for the door.

“Whoa, mate,” he held up one gloved finger. “Ladies and children first.” He beckoned to Selene. Henry halted, his eyes unamused in the faint light. Selene gestured at him to proceed, but Henry shook his head.

“Just get the fuck in there,” he growled.

No time to argue, Selene twisted her lithe frame from the wall and stepped beyond the threshold into pale warmth. Charlie patted her ass as she slipped by, but she refused to yelp. At her feet, Charlie’s briefcase lay open on the floor, light emitting diodes flashing in incomprehensible patterns. A wire snaked up from the case to a keypad embedded in the wall next to the door where she’d entered.

Following close on her heels, Henry, then Vance, joined her. Charlie closed the door with a tiny snick. Nobody but her received the ass pat. Internally, she shrugged. After tonight, she wouldn’t be seeing any of them again, except perhaps Henry. She could live with a gentle pat on her ass. It was only Charlie.

Charlie crouched and peered at the lights twinkling in the case.

“We’re good for an hour,” he muttered. “After the code changes, all ‘ell will break loose. We don’t want to be here when that happens.”

Henry stared at Selene. “Can you do it in an hour?”

She thought for a moment, an image of Cody centre in her mind.

“Yes,” she answered. “Less than an hour.”

The hallway in which they stood looked like a supply route. Dingy vinyl tiles graced the floor, cut by multiple gouges as if heavy objects had been dragged across them in the recent past. Dust and dirt lay in the corners and a mouldy scent permeated the air. Only dim emergency lighting illuminated the grey walls. What seemed like thousands of steel doors lined the passage, enough to remind Selene of twisted mazes from her childhood. Except mazes never had treasure at the end, did they? Only pain and disappointment.

Henry touched her shoulder. His touch felt more intimate than Charlie’s pat, but it evoked the same emotions. Silently, she turned with Henry and Vance, following them as they moved down the dimly lit corridor. Charlie remained with the briefcase. Charlie never accompanied them beyond the entrance.

The third door on the right opened into even more dimly lit stairs. She climbed silently between Henry and Vance. After three flights, Vance began to fall behind, and Henry’s pace slowed, his breathing becoming ragged. Selene slowed to match, although her breathing hadn’t become laboured yet. Henry filled the staircase ahead of her, and she had no idea of their destination. It made no sense for her to forge ahead of the men. Each rubber soled foot simply raised her body twenty centimetres at a time until Henry halted ahead of her, seven flights above Charlie and the exit.

Vance wheezed up behind.

“Fuck, man,” he gasped. “Seven fucking flights?”

“Shut up,” Henry growled. “It’ll be worth it.”

“The fuck, you say,” Vance’s voice sounded like an old steam whistle. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees.

“Just come on,” Henry said curtly. He touched Selene’s shoulder again, guiding her through the next steel door; she stepped inside onto worn industrial carpet. Vance plodded inside after her, casting disgruntled glances at Henry. Henry ignored them.

Together, they walked up the new corridor, another tunnel in a maze with only one destination.

Selene had lost track of her journey through the labyrinthine structure, her mind occupied, her nerves taut as wires. She had no idea how Henry knew where to lead them, but relentlessly, he opened unlocked doors, passing under dim fluorescent lights until at last the small group halted in front of an ornate redwood door, strangely out of place amongst the general dinginess of the nondescript building.

The frosted glass proclaimed in calligraphic letters: “Jackson Holdings”.

Henry tried the doorknob, which stubbornly refused to turn. For a moment, Selene was certain that Henry intended to break the door hardware off in his fist.

“Break it,” he said, with a shake of his head. He released the knob and shifted to the left.

Silently, Selene extracted the pick again, and this time with much warmer fingers, snapped the less secure lock open in less than thirty seconds. Bracing herself for the shrill scream of an alarm, her heart hammering in her chest, she twisted the now unlocked knob and pushed the door open. It creaked in protest, but revealed marble and granite floor adorned above with shimmering glass. No alarm sounded. Either Charlie had deactivated it, or more likely, there was none.

Henry grunted, pushing past Selene roughly, his eyes maniacal behind the masking hood. Vance merely shook his head, gesturing for Selene to precede him from the squalour of the hallway. With a nod of thanks, Selene stepped onto the marble, her soles gripping the polished stone firmly. Vance followed, closing the door discreetly behind them.

“Get the fuck over here,” Henry muttered.

With a sigh, Selene stepped into an antechamber, as opulent as the lobby, where Henry stood before a picture. The framed photograph contained a stylised forest pathway in autumn, golden leaves littering the fork in the road. For a moment, Selene stared at the photograph wondering if she should turn left or right. Again, a sense of foreboding permeated her, an inexplicable sense that either path led to disaster, an earlier fork in the road chosen unwisely. His gloved fingers gripped the frame and pulled. Instead of falling to the ground as a normal frame might, it swung out like a cabinet door to reveal treasure.

So cliche, Selene thought. Why is the safe always behind the picture?

She hadn’t taken many lovers since she’d run. Lovers were a liability. Lovers disappointed. Lovers inevitably left. And she was tired of being abandoned and shifted from squalid place to squalid place.

Cody had only been a few years older than her. How many years, she didn’t know. She hadn’t known him long enough to find out, or rather he’d left her, like so many others had before. Of course, he’d left her differently, but left her he had. Before she could ask him so much as his age. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. A torrid affair, cut short before she was ready. She might have even loved him. Cody dreamed of the big score, the one that would allow him to stop running, to abandon this life, retire somewhere tropical and search for a lost shaker of salt.

She’d taken him into her bed, and learned. Learned to love. Learned to care. And learned to use the tools that lay heavy in her grip: Cody’s tools. She learned swiftly and surely, surprising even Cody. She had never asked where Cody learned his trade. It only mattered that he was willing to show her.

Until he was taken from her in a hail of lead.

She hadn’t shed any tears for him.

And now she was standing here, in front of this safe, unwelcome wetness forming in the corner of her eyes. Cody’s big score. Cody’s tools weighed heavy in her right gloved hand.

It was time.

Henry’s breath whispered against the side of her throat.

“Can you do it?” he whispered. His unspoken question rang in her ears. Could Cody have done it?

Of course, he could have. But Cody wasn’t here, was he? Henry, Charlie, and Vance had made it back to the waiting van, oh yes, but not Cody. Not her Cody.

“Yes,” she whispered, “if you give me room to work.”

Henry remained stubbornly where he was for a full minute, until she glanced at him, fire burning in her eyes. Then with a curt nod, he checked his watch and retreated by a metre.

“Forty-five minutes, Moony,” he murmured.

“Don’t rush me,” she snapped.

Electric waves of anger and anxiety washed over her from the man behind her, but she ignored them and withdrew the electronic steth, magnetically sealing it to the safe case. The safe was an older mechanical model, breakable, but high quality, manufactured in Germany. She wasn’t certain that she could break it in forty-five minutes, but she would try. Not for Henry or Vance or Charlie. Not even for herself. Only for Cody.

Drawing up the balaclava she set the earpieces in her ears and set her sheathed fingertips against the shiny dial. Closing her eyes, her fingers twisted the dial with a practised ease, her ears straining for the patterns that defined the mechanisms deep within. Shutting out even the ragged sounds of her own breathing and Henry’s huffing behind her, she concentrated.

A fine bead of perspiration trickled from her hairline to her shoulder under the cloying closeness of the balaclava. She longed for fresh air. She longed to tear the balaclava from her head, free her hair, forget the puzzle in front of her. Her throat screamed for a sip of iced water.

“Aren’t you fucking done yet?”

Her concentration disintegrated like a plate glass window before a wrecking ball, shards spinning through blackness. She glanced over her shoulder. Henry sat on the floor, his legs splayed out looking up at her, a scowl ingrained across his bony forehead. A Glock sat in his lap, his gloved fingers stroking the weapon obscenely.

“Shhh,” she whispered.

“Ten fucking minutes,” he snapped, glancing at his watch meaningfully.

“Shhh,” she repeated.

Without waiting for a reply or retort, she returned her attention to the resolute dials in front of her. She blinked to clear her vision, then set her fingers to motion again.

At precisely forty-three minutes, the final number revealed itself from the gloom, completing the mental image of the dials that hovered like a three dimensional chart suspended in her mind.

At precisely forty-three minutes, Henry began to speak, frustration dripping in the gravel of his voice. “Two fucking...”

At precisely forty-three minutes, Selene let her breath out in a long stream of relief, her fingers poised to reset the dials and begin to enter the magic numbers indelibly imprinted on her inner mind.

At precisely forty-three minutes, Vance called out in a hoarse whisper, “Who the fuck...”

At precisely forty-three minutes, the outer door opened and a strange voice, one that Selene had never before heard, called out clearly, like a siren through frozen air. “Freeze!”

At precisely forty-three minutes, all hell broke loose.

Selene instinctively turned and crouched, dropping low, her fingers leaving the dial half-twisted. Through the antechamber doorway, still half-open, Vance stood with his arm extended downward, a Sig aimed inconveniently at the marble of the floor. Henry gathered his legs under him and rose to a smooth crouch, even as Selene descended. The Glock ascended in Henry’s right hand, its barrel rising unerringly toward the entrance. At the entrance door, an overweight man in a beige uniform braced in a classic shooter’s stance, a revolver, perhaps a Smith, pointed towards Vance’s chest. The man’s cheeks flamed crimson and a rivulet of sweat traced down his face disappearing into a scruffy beard.

“Drop it!” the overweight man bellowed.

Without warning, the Glock spit fire, and before Selene could cover her ears, the sound of the report deafened her. A bloom of red appeared at the man’s right shoulder and his mouth opened in a silent scream. The Smith in his right hand discharged as Vance instinctively raised the Sig. The bullet from the Smith struck Vance at close range, spinning him to the right, where he crumpled to the floor. A second discharge ricocheted about the room, spraying chips of marble and glass. Henry rose from his crouch, bellowing, the Glock recoiling three additional times. On each discharge, another scarlet bloom appeared until the uniformed man crumpled to the floor.

For a moment, a preternatural quiet reigned as the Glock fell silent.

As Selene’s hearing slowly returned, the first sound ringing in her ears was the issue of her own screaming.

“Shut up, fucking bitch!” Henry barked.

He remained standing near where he’d been resting, his back to the wall and to Selene, his semi automatic still aimed at the uniform as if he expected the man to rise like an enraged bull and charge.

Selene pushed her jaws together and stifled the next scream that threatened to overwhelm her. As the echoes of her screams faded, she could hear Vance groaning, Henry cursing softly under his breath and, incredibly, the uniform moaning, still alive.

Selene turned her head away, gorge rising into her throat. Silently, she willed the nausea away, her eyes focusing on the neat hole in the wall behind her. If the wayward bullet had been two centimetres to the left, she wouldn’t be looking at the hole it had created in the drywall. Another wave of nausea threatened.

“Oh my God,” Selene whispered.

Henry merely grunted and advanced into the lobby area.

Whimpering, Selene pushed herself unsteadily to her feet and managed two steps to the antechamber’s doorway. Dark blood trickled across the floor from both the uniform and Vance. Henry advanced until he stood over the man in the mostly beige uniform. He stepped on the uniform’s right hand, kicking away the Smith. The guard merely moaned.

“You stupid fuck,” Henry spat at the man.

Slowly, in a trance, Selene stepped forward until she stood on the opposite side of the man lying on the floor. Four distinct scarlet marks displayed where the man had absorbed the Glock’s punishment. One high on the man’s chest sucked air as he struggled for breath. Blood dripped from his lips and his eyes stared ahead, terror buried within.

Henry raised the Glock a final time, the barrel extended towards the man’s forehead.

Without thinking, Selene dropped to her knees, warm blood seeping into the ebony sheen of the body suit there. She touched his face and he turned towards her.

“We’ll get an ambulance,” she whispered, but his eyes showed understanding. There wouldn’t be an ambulance, and even when one inevitably arrived, it would be too late. Both of them knew it.

The man struggled for breath, the wound in his chest gurgling.

“Alice. Karen,” he whispered. For a moment, Selene thought that he was trying to guess her name, accuse her. She shook her head, the names only passing into her consciousness dimly.

Her peripheral vision caught a final movement above her.

“No,” she whispered.

The Glock crashed again, close and personal. Again, her hearing muted. Blood spattered her chest and upper arms, fading into the fabric.

A small neat hole, like the hole in the drywall, appeared in the guard’s forehead and blood gushed onto the floor as the guard went limp.

She couldn’t hear Henry’s, “Fuck”, but she saw the disgusted shake of Henry’s head as he turned away to attend to Vance.

The final shot made Selene jump as she hadn’t realised that her hearing had returned. This shot was muffled and while her ears still rang, she could hear Vance slump against the wall.

“What a cluster fuck,” Henry murmured as he gathered up Vance’s Sig from where it lay discarded on the floor. His shoes left men’s number twelve wet footprints as he approached Selene. Selene flinched as he drew near.

“You didn’t...”

Henry nodded.

“Pull yourself together, Moon. We have to get out of here. Now.”

“You killed...”

“He was dead the second that he opened the door, Moon.”

“But Vance...”

Henry regarded her for a moment, then without warning slapped her hard across the cheek. The blow was barely deadened by the intervening mask. Selene cried out in pain, but the pain cleared her head.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“I just needed to get your attention. Forget about them. They no longer matter. Did you break it?”

For a moment, she didn’t know what he meant.

“What?”

“Don’t be a stupid cunt,” Henry growled. “The fucking safe.”

“You can’t be serious...”

“You want all this to be for fucking nothing?”

Would Cody?

Her mind reeling, Selene turned and stepped back into the anteroom. Numbly, her fingers spun the dials, her mind on autopilot. With a click, the heavy door cracked open.

“Clever bitch,” Henry croaked. He sounded happy.

Roughly, Henry shoved her, and Selene looked away as Henry opened the safe. A moment later, he whispered in her ear.

“Unless you want to be here when the cops show, you might want to get the fuck out of here.”

She hesitated for only a moment. Whatever was in the safe, was now gone. Only stark metal shelves remained. Selene reached out, closing the heavy safe door and spun the dials randomly. It would slow their pursuers, a habit that Cody had instilled into her. With nearly an indifference, she returned the picture to its former home, where the forest path mocked her. There was no correct path. If there ever had been one.

When she turned, Henry was gone, his footsteps retreating in the hallway. Carefully, she wound through the pooled blood, with a last look at the guard’s slack face, a face she knew she’d see in a million nightmares, she carefully stepped over his bulk and slipped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Already, a trickle of crimson filtered under the door near her shoes. Henry wasn’t in sight, but she could follow his scarlet footprints.

She ran.

She caught up to him at the stairs and they descended to the ground floor in grim silence. Both were breathing raggedly by the time they emerged into the utility corridor.

In the distance, Selene could hear sirens beginning to wail into the night. And this time, they were approaching at a fearful pace.

“What the bloody ‘ell?” Charlie exclaimed as Henry and Selene ran down the dusty corridor. “Where the fuck is Vance?” Charlie eyed the Glock nestled in Henry’s right hand.

Henry halted at the heavy steel door.

“Pack up,” Henry growled. “Now.”

Charlie’s eyes widened under his balaclava. Even opaque clothing couldn’t mask the acrid smell of gunpowder or the darkened bloodstains.

“A guard,” Selene whispered. Her voice shook.

“Bloody ‘ell, no way,” Charlie said. “I checked myself. No guards this evening.”

Henry grunted.

“He killed him, Charlie,” Selene whispered. “Vance didn’t make it.” She couldn’t bring herself to scream that the guard wasn’t the only person Henry had executed.

“Fuck me, I didn’t sign up for this shit,” Charlie said.

Henry turned slowly at the door, eyes blazing behind the balaclava.

“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” Charlie repeated.

The sirens continued to approach, wailing into the night.

Without hesitation, the Glock rose like a cobra. Charlie began to raise his hands in a parody of a mugging victim when the Glock barked. This time, Selene managed to cover her ears, but couldn’t stifle her scream. Charlie crumpled to the floor, more scarlet.

“Shut the fuck up,” Henry yelled. “Shut the fuck up!”

His words penetrated her fear. She regained control of her vocal chords, but her body trembled as adrenaline surged.

“Charlie...”

“Charlie would have turned us in, Moon,” Henry said soothingly.

“You killed him...”

The Glock raised again, aiming between her breasts.

“You have a problem with that?” he asked quietly.

Terrified, she shook her head. For an eternity, the Glock wavered aimed at her heart.

Henry nodded.

“Keep up,” he growled.

The sirens sounded like they were outside the door, banshees in the night.

Henry pushed the door, a cold blast of November air slamming into her, waking her from a semi-trance of horror and terror. Adding to the sound of the emergency vehicles, the building alarm sprang to life as the door opened, more sirens and bells jangling, jarring. Henry stepped out into the cold and the door swung shut behind him.

With a last look at Charlie, she followed, running into the night, her shoes light upon the frozen asphalt.

The van halted, gravel crunching under its uncaring tires. Selene raised her eyes. Outside, the night accused her, punishing her with blackness as dark as spilled blood upon marble. Henry leaned across the seat, his still gloved hand pulling her balaclava from her head. Selene breathed in the scent of spent cartridges, stale cigarette smoke, copper and the mawkish essence of Vance and Charlie.

Instinctively, she knew shock had settled in, a lethargy infusing her limbs and her will. The safe’s combination floated in her consciousness like a beacon of indifference.

“Get out,” Henry commanded. “Now.”

She faced him for a moment. He stared at her, his eyes absorbing her face, her hair, her grim expression.

Henry turned away and opened his door.

“If you want to drown in this thing, stay.”

His words infiltrated her consciousness, perhaps a primal survival instinct surfacing. Quickly, she gathered up the blood soaked balaclava and pushed open her door, stepping out again into the frigid darkness.

A few kilometres to the north, sirens continued to crash through the night and emergency lights strobed upwards, even visible here. The crescent of the moon leered at her, filtered through bare branches of willow and maple. Here, streetlamps couldn’t hope to penetrate the late autumnal void, and indeed, none could be glimpsed. Henry’s shadow blended into different shades of black.