Smoke and Bidding

The Grand Bellevue Hotel’s lower levels weren’t listed on any official schematics. Beneath its opulent dining halls and marble fountains, a black-market auction pulsed in secret—sleek and gilded, crawling with the city’s most dangerous buyers.

From a support beam above the hall, Nightingale crouched in full stealth, hiding in the shadows. Beside her, Whisper stood like a shadow in motion, her suit seemed to adjust in colour, perfectly blending into the shadows around her. Her face was hidden beneath her mask and scarf but her eyes flicked constantly over the room.

“Every villain with a checkbook is down there,” Whisper murmured. “Selling, buying, scheming. It’s a regular class reunion for psychopaths.”

Nightingale tensed. “And our goal?”

Whisper smirked. “Destroy the weapons. Bonus points for every scum bag you take down.”

Below, the auctioneer unveiled the next item: a compact pulse rifle that could vaporize vehicles. Hands went up, gloved, bejeweled, surgically enhanced.

“Split up?” Nightingale offered.

“Tempting,” Whisper whispered. “But it’s more fun when we crash the party together.”

Before Nightingale could reply, Whisper dropped silently into the shadows behind the stage. Nightingale followed moment’s later, rolling low between two columns and taking cover beside her.

The plan was simple: Whisper would destroy the weapons and Nightingale would keep the guards distracted.

Whisper pulled a remote out of her belt and hit the button. The lights went out. Gasps filled the room, followed by the buzz of red emergency backups. Whisper vanished toward the storage room. Nightingale stepped out from the shadows and into the chaos.

A guard rushed at her. She swung one of her stun batons into his gut, crackling on contact, then brought the second across his neck. He dropped like a sack of bricks.

Another guard lunged with a baton of his own. She blocked the strike, twisted under his arm, and jabbed her baton against his ribs. Electricity pulsed. He screamed, convulsed, and collapsed.

More were coming.

She flipped a table and used it as cover, batting aside projectiles and ducking under fire. A stun baton hit her shoulder, she winced but pivoted, driving her knee into the attacker’s sternum, then whirled and brought both batons down onto his spine with a double burst of blue light.

Nightingale vaulted across a table, launched herself at the nearest attacker, and delivered a spinning kick that knocked his rifle clean from his hands. But another thug tackled her from behind, slamming her into the wall.

She grunted, pain exploding through her ribs. Another third man appeared, baton raised high.

She twisted, yanked a smoke capsule from her belt, and threw it down. The cloud exploded around them, giving her seconds to breathe, seconds she didn’t have.

Whisper where are you?

A blow landed against her shoulder and sent her sprawling into chairs. Her vision blurred. Blood from a split lip dripped onto her chin.

She scrambled to her feet, wobbling. They were circling her now. Closing in.

Across the room, Whisper reappeared, running at the nearest attacker. She took him out with ease and raced over to her partner. The guards didn’t stand a chance.

They moved like parts of a machine, fluid, precise, effortless. Whisper didn’t need to call out where she was going. Nightingale didn’t have to signal when she needed cover. They just knew, moving around each other like they’d done this a hundred times before.

As Whisper spun and drove her knee into a guard’s gut, Nightingale caught a glimpse of her through the haze, eyes sharp beneath the mask the confidence radiating off her like heat. Dangerous. Controlled. Beautiful.

Nightingale shook herself, ducking a punch and countering with a jab to the ribs. Focus, she scolded herself. But her eyes flicked back to Whisper as she took down a man with a spinning kick that was almost… theatrical.

“Ten seconds!” Whisper warned. Nightingale knocked back the last guard with a sweeping leg kick and a jolt of electricity straight to his chest plate. A loud boom erupted from down the hall and the fire alarms started blaring. Their job was done.

Nightingales heart was hammering, not from the fight, but from something else. The heat of combat, maybe. Or the way Whisper looked at her like she knew exactly what kind of effect she was having.

She cleared her throat, stepping past her. “Let’s keep moving.”

But she didn’t miss the flicker of amusement in Whisper’s eyes as they fell into step again, closer than before.