Page 57 of Rebel
Something small and plastic skitters under the buffet. I drop to a knee and snatch it up. It’s a gold-edged keycard with the Emerge insignia. Thank you, universe.
“Subtle,” Carter says, panting.
“Effective,” I counter, already moving. “And you’re welcome.”
Divine rasps in my ear.“Congratulations, you’re a live-streamed scandal. Gentry’s moving. North corridor in fifteen. That card gets you through his suite door, not the terminal. Terminal needs a six-digit physical passcode plus biometric. Copy that?”
“Copy,” I say. “You get me inside. I’ll get us the rest.”
“Working on it. Also, you’re about to get eyes.”
“Let them look,” I mutter, rising into a smile that shows teeth. “I’m dressed for it.”
Carter falls in beside me, adjusting his cufflinks, expression bland enough to sell a lie to a saint. “If anyone asks, you tripped. I rescued you. We’re very grateful to the foundation for providing such… slippery marble.”
“Mm,” I say. “I’ll make sure your heroism gets a plaque.”
We fold into the chaos like it’s a second skin. Themusicians swell into a waltz, of course they do, money loves tradition, and the crowd settles, eager to forget. We drift with them, then against them, angling toward the north hall. Gentry dressed in a sleek, gray, tailored suit is unbothered, laughing near a display of silent auction lots, his security spaced like clock hands.
French chuckles in my ear.“Show time, sugar. Give ’em the pretty.”
“I always give the pretty.”
“You always give the knife,”Raven corrects, cool as winter.“Try not to confuse the two.”
“Ladies,”Allura warns, warmth wrapped in steel.“Eyes on mission. Rebel, breathe.”
Breathe. Right. I do, and the air tastes like perfume and the copper of nerves.
Carter’s fingers brush my waist, light as a promise. “Dance with me,” he says.
“We’re working.”
“Exactly.” He nods toward Gentry. “We need three rotations to cross his line. Four to clip the decoy port. Five for the handoff. You waltz, I steal. We exit smiling.”
I arch a brow. “You choreograph all your crimes?”
“Only the ones that matter.”
I put my hand in his. Heat snaps up my arm, quick and disloyal. He draws me in, palm firm at the small of my back, bodies aligning like a plan coming clean. The floor turns beneath us. Silk whispers. The world narrows to music and breath and the steady, infuriating calm of the man holding me.
“Left,” he murmurs, and I pivot. “Head high.”
“You planning to boss me through the whole revolution?”
“Only the parts where bullets would ruin your dress.”
“My dress is already a write-off,” I say, and he laughs under his breath, low, unguarded. It lands somewhere just under my ribs and stays.
We turn, then turn again. On the third rotation, we ghost past the silent-auction table. Carter’s sleeve brushes the edge. A cufflink catches. To anyone else, it’s nothing. To us, it’s the micro-drive kissing the disguised USB port under the table lip.
Divine breathes,“Connected. Download live. Ninety seconds.”
“Keep me on your left,” Carter says, voice so close it’s almost inside my ear. “Security at four o’clock.”
“I see them.” I smile like a woman who has never stolen anything but attention.
“Rebel,” he says, a warning and a request.
