Chapter 27

27

Vesh

T he penthouse suite of the Pandemonium buzzes with the kind of electric energy only the rich and powerful exude. My eyes sweep the crowd, picking out my team as they meld into their roles—guardians turned actors for the night. My own guise is nothing remarkable—just another tuxedo among many—but it’s the perfect camouflage. I keep my head down, eyes sharp, watching.

As our substitute Shadow, Kol’s a spot of unfamiliarity in our tight-knit unit. He doesn’t share our telepathic link, but the earpiece we’ve rigged up keeps him in the loop. I murmur into my own, “Stay sharp. We’re about to move into phase two.”

His shadow, a living extension of him, slinks through the throng of guests unseen. Only I notice its presence, a comfort that Erebus’s absence hasn’t left us blind.

The pang of annoyance at my brother’s betrayal stings fresh, imagining him and Typhon entwined with Nemea, rather than standing with us. Perhaps I should have relented, let Typhon have his outing. He’s ridden along often enough but I’ve never let him have a body of his own, cloned from my own flesh so he can appear human to the mortal world. I only let him out when I need the monster, and tonight requires far more refinement than he possesses.

But my rejection cost me Erebus, and possibly Cerberus as a result, whose erratic behavior continues, keeping me on edge every time he moves, patrolling the hallway closest to Sybil’s saunas.

Chaos and Sybil are a formidable sight, inseparable as they greet their guests with that untouchable air of authority. The crowd around them swarms, a sea of designer gowns and tailored suits, each person eager for a moment in their powerful orbit. It’s a problem; their tendency to stay joined at the hip is a complication we hadn’t anticipated.

Pan’s voice comes through our bond, low and controlled. “We need to separate them. I can draw her attention.”

I frown, watching Chaos like a hawk. “It’s too risky. He’s not a fool.”

Pan’s gaze follows mine to the couple, his expression unreadable. “I’ll wait for the right moment. If she steps away, even for a second, I’ll take it.”

I nod, apprehensive, but willing give him the freedom to improvise. We can’t afford to wait much longer.

Pan fades back into the crowd, a predator biding his time. Moments later, I catch the glint of mischief in his eyes as he catches Sybil’s attention from across the room. Chaos has turned away, laughing at some high roller’s joke.

I hold my breath, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears. This is it, the tipping point. If Pan can lure her away, we have our opening. If not, we’re back to square one, with the clock ticking down relentlessly.

My body tenses, ready to call it off if I sense the slightest hint of Chaos’ suspicion. But then, Sybil’s eyes light up, and she’s moving, drifting toward Pan like a moth to flame. Chaos is still preoccupied, and I can’t help but let out a silent sigh of relief.

Now, we play our hand. I signal to Kol through the earpiece “Stand by, Sybil’s on the move. Get ready for Campe’s entrance.”

Tonight, we’re a machine, and every cog must turn perfectly. My focus narrows to each movement, each breath of my team. We can’t afford any mistakes—not with so much at stake.

I stand by the bar, my back to the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation. My gaze is locked on the hallway where Pan disappeared with Sybil in tow. Every second feels like an eternity, my muscles coiled, ready to spring into action or to abort the mission if it goes south. The hallway remains quiet, too quiet, and it sets my nerves on edge.

“Anything?” I reach out to Cerberus, not wanting to distract Pan from his mark. The hound should be patrolling the very corridor I stare at, but I haven’t seen him since Pan disappeared down its length.

“He’s with her. Door’s closed,” Cerberus finally says. “What will Nemea think? We’re hers. He shouldn’t let the tentacled bitch touch him.”

A laugh, too loud and too close, draws my attention away from a question I don’t have an answer for back to the main room. We have more important things to worry about than what Nemea thinks.

I scan the sea of faces, searching for the one face that should be easy to spot. But Chaos isn’t there. He’s not shaking hands or flashing that not-quite-perfect smile. A bead of sweat trails down my spine despite the cool air of the penthouse.

My fingers tap an impatient rhythm against the glass I’ve been nursing. It’s a cover, a prop to blend in, but right now it feels like a lifeline, grounding me to the spot. Where the hell did he go?

Relief washes over me as Sybil emerges from the hallway, her eyes locking onto mine. She gives me a subtle nod, the smallest tilt of her head that speaks volumes. My gods, the likeness is perfect.

Campe’s voice buzzes in my ear, “Pan has her wrapped around his little finger. Go to the vault. I’ll find Chaos.”

The tension doesn’t ebb, though. It morphs, shifts into a sharper edge. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched, that Chaos is one step ahead. I move, casual but purposeful, heading toward the vault to wait while my team acts.

“Kol, Chrysaor, you got eyes on Chaos?” My voice is calm, but the undercurrent of urgency is there, impossible to mask completely.

A pause, then Kol’s voice is in my ear, low and even, “Negative. No sign of him.”

Chrysaor chimes in, his tone tinged with frustration, “Same here. He’s a ghost.”

We’re running out of time, but we can’t proceed without Chaos. I press my lips together, weighing our options, which are uncomfortably slim.

Campe’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “Head down, Vesh. I’m on his trail. I’ll let you know when I have him.”

Kol’s shadow form slinks along close behind her, a silent guardian ready to snatch up Chaos’ essence and deliver it to me when I reach the vault.

The elevator ride down feels like descending into the abyss. The closer I get to the vault, the more the silence presses in around me. I can feel the weight of the building above, the thrum of life that I’m leaving behind. I’m going deep, down to where the secrets are kept, where the true power lies hidden.

My hand rests on the elevator wall, the vibration of our descent a steady thrum against my palm. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that I’m still moving, that I’m in control. For now.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, and I step out into the corridor leading to the vault. The air is cooler here, the opulence of the penthouse a distant memory. This is a place of steel and stone, of locks and keys.

I keep my steps silent, my senses alert.

I’m not even halfway down the corridor when the first prickles of unease skitter across my skin. It’s too quiet, too easy. There’s a rhythm to security, a dance of lights and sounds that tells you everything’s in place, everything’s on guard. But tonight, the rhythm’s gone. It’s a silence that doesn’t belong.

My footsteps echo, hollow and lonely, as I advance. Each step is a question, each breath a doubt. There are no guards, the cameras are dormant, no lasers paint invisible webs in the air. I altered the program to avoid detection, but not to this extreme. I can’t shake the feeling of walking into a trap, but I keep moving. The plan’s in motion, and I can’t stop now.

Reaching out with my mind, I search for my team. “Campe, report. Anyone seen Chaos?” I need to know I’m not the only one who feels it, that the world hasn’t just tilted on its axis.

Static silence. No sign of Chaos, no sign of anyone. The corridor might as well be a tomb for all the life it shows.

Kol should be slithering down ventilation shafts, the essence in his shadowy grasp, but I’m standing here with nothing but open air and questions. I should’ve been able to just snap my fingers and appear where I needed to be, but the magic woven into the bones of this place denies me that convenience. It’s a slow crawl, a mortal’s pace, and it’s chafing at my soul.

The end of the corridor looms, the vault door a gaping maw in the dim light. It’s open. Wide open. My heart doesn’t skip a beat—it hammers, a drumbeat of fury and fear.

“Everyone, stop. Get to me, now!” The command is a snarl in my mind, a call to arms. Something’s gone sideways, and I can feel the threads of our plan unraveling. If they’re able to teleport to my side, it’ll confirm my suspicions.

Pan is the first to arrive, hair disheveled but otherwise still put together.

Campe appears next, her form materializing from the shadows. “I couldn’t find him, Vesh. He’s?—”

But her words falter, dying in her throat. Because he’s there, Chaos, lounging in the vault like it’s his own personal den, surrounded by glass cases and spotlights.

One half of the key to Olympus, that gleaming artifact of power, is in his hand.

He looks at me, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “A bargain is a bargain,” he says, the words smooth and self-assured. He steps forward, the key extended to me like an offering.

I don’t move. I can’t. This isn’t the plan; this isn’t how it was supposed to go. My mind races, trying to find the angle, the play he’s making.

The air in the vault is heavy, charged with a tension that’s about to snap. My eyes flicker to Chaos’ smirk, the self-assured tilt of his head that says he knows something I don’t. I brace myself, ready for whatever he’s playing at.

He steps aside, and there she is?—

Nemea.

My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes are wide, shimmering pools of sorrow that threaten to drown me. She’s out of place, dressed all in black among the gleaming riches of the vault, a poignant figure of regret and betrayal.

“I’m sorry, I had to…” Her voice trembles, each word a knife to my chest. “Pan and Campe don’t deserve what you asked of them. Too many sacrifices for my sake…”

I’m stunned, frozen. My team, my plans, my control—all slipping through my fingers like sand. How? When? My mind races, but there’s no time to piece it together. I can’t even look at her, not when her grief is a mirror to my own failings.

Chaos’ voice slices through the tension, cool and condemning, yet somehow smug. “Shame on you for forcing such a compromise from those whose trust you hold.”

His words sting, but it’s the disappointment in Nemea’s eyes that cuts deeper.

He turns back to her, his expression softening in a way that makes my skin crawl. The sight of him so close to her, so intimate, ignites a fury I’ve never known. It’s a raw, primal thing that claws at my insides, demanding action.

But I’m rooted to the spot, a statue in my own story. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I’m the warden of Tartarus, a primordial being of chaos and strength. Yet here I stand, powerless and undone by the one person I never wanted to hurt.

Nemea’s eyes meet mine, and I see it—the pain, the apology, the resolve. It’s a silent conversation, a moment suspended in time. I want to rage, to fight, to take back control. But the truth is a heavy chain around my neck, and I have no choice but to bear its weight.

I nod, a subtle acknowledgment of her choice, her sacrifice. It’s all I can offer her now; all I can muster in the face of Chaos’ smug triumph.

He’s won this round, and we both know it. But the game’s far from over.

“Now, my dear,” Chaos says, his voice a velvet caress, “tell me what your favorite ice cream flavor is.”