Rina stepped out of the Black Fang headquarters and into the biting Moscow chill. She looked around the busy streets, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Whatever pain lingered from moments ago was just a result of time catching up to her. At least, that's what she always thought.
She raised her left hand. The etched crests on her glove flared to life, glowing faintly with the familiar pulse of her mana. The spatial artifact hummed, and a moment later, a sleek black motorcycle key materialized in her palm.
Without a moment's hesitation, she opened her eyes and pressed the key.
Nothing happened.
Seconds ticked by. Her left arm remained raised in the biting wind. Nearby, a burly Black Fang bodyguard stationed at the entrance watched her closely, his brow raised in silent judgment.
The awkward silence stretched.
Then, a low, mana-fueled hum vibrated through the pavement. From the far edge of the lot, a sleek, pitch-black motorcycle rolled forward, navigating the parked SUVs entirely on its own until it stopped perfectly at her side.
Rina threw her leg over the seat and gripped the handlebars. She glanced back at the staring security guard, pointing a single finger at him.
"You thought?" she smirked.
The security guard smiled at her and said, "Take care, Ma'am Rina."
With a twist of the throttle, the engine purred to life, and she merged into the afternoon traffic, speeding toward the affluent heart of the city.
The Artifact Store wasn't a place that advertised. It didn't have neon signs, display windows, or even a fixed address. It was an empire built on spatial magic, its entrance shifting randomly across Russia. A person could open the door to a run-down tavern in Siberia or a janitor's closet in St. Petersburg and suddenly find themselves standing in Nikolai's showroom.
Most people couldn't sense the store's location, no matter how hard they tried. It was a secret meant for only a select few. But Rina, with her high-density mana perception, always felt the gravitational tug of its spatial anchors.
Usually, that tug was faint, pulling her toward the "door." Now, because the store had been forcibly anchored to this specific alleyway, the spatial dissonance was a screaming siren.
Rina killed the engine a block away and approached on foot. The Black Fangs had secured the store's current manifestation: an abandoned nineteenth-century bank tucked away in the narrow, cobblestone alleys of Moscow's historic district.
The alleyway was taped off, flanked by two towering men in beige suits who looked more like statues than guards. They stiffened as she approached, their hands drifting toward the weapons concealed under their jackets.
Rina didn't slow down. She reached into her coat and flashed the silver card bearing the black circular insignia. The guards recognized Nikolai's seal instantly. They stepped aside in total silence, lifting the tape to let her through.
The crime scene was a masterpiece of localized destruction. The heavy iron doors of the bank hadn't been blown open; they had been cleanly severed, the edges of the metal glowing with a faint, unnatural heat.
Rina stepped through the threshold, her boots crunching softly on powdered concrete. The interior was a cavernous ruin. Display pedestals were shattered, and deep fissures ran up the marble pillars, as if the room itself had tried to reject whatever force had entered it. Yet, strangely, the surrounding buildings were completely untouched.
Precision, Rina thought, her eyes sweeping the devastation. He didn't just smash his way in. He dismantled the spatial wards layer by layer.
She knelt beside the remains of the iron door, peeling off her right glove. She closed her eyes and pressed her bare fingertips against the severed metal, reaching out to feel the residual mana lingering in the air.
Usually, reading leftover mana was like listening to a fading echo. But the moment Rina made contact, a violent jolt shot up her arm. She snatched her hand back with a sharp hiss.
"I have to find this man," she murmured, her voice cold and absolute.
She yanked her glove back on—the leather snapping sharply in the quiet ruin—and strode out into the three-way alleyway. Moving with a swift, sweeping grace, she stopped exactly where the CCTV photo had been captured.
Above her, mounted to the brickwork, the security camera blinked. A steady, rhythmic red pulse in the gloom.
Rina stared up at the lens, bracing herself as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. If this thief was powerful enough to unravel ancient spatial magic, frying a cheap electronic camera would have taken less than a thought. He hadn't just forgotten it. He had intentionally exited right in front of it.
A realization dawned on her, sending a shiver through her suit. He hadn't left it running for the public. He had left it for the Black Fang.
He wants us to watch him, Rina realized, a cold thrill cutting through her lingering dread. This isn't just a heist. It's a taunt.
Rina didn't look away from that unblinking red eye. Slowly, a dark, predatory smirk touched her lips. She wasn't intimidated; she was intrigued.
"Fine," she whispered to the empty alley. "I accept."