The Vault Heist

The Button Job

I stood in the darkness of a New Avalon alley, the city’s bright lights throbbing against the brick walls like a heartbeat. The air is thick with the scent of rain and fried electronics, and my pulse matches the distant bass coming from a club. My team is behind me, as quiet as ghosts: Lena, her fingers fidgeting over her tablet like she can’t wait to hack into anything; Marcus, a large man with knuckles roughened from too many brawls; and Evie, her blonde hair hidden under a hat, already smiling confidently like she's in charge. We're about to break into Crane’s dry cleaner’s—a small, unremarkable shop that handles more than just clothes for billionaire Victor Crane. Our goal: his jacket, the key to planting a hidden camera that will get us access to his secure vault. One wrong step, and we’re finished.

 “Jax, are you sure about this?” Lena’s voice comes through my earpiece, soft and intense, like she's already questioning my plan. Her hazel eyes reflect the neon light, sparkling with that combination of brilliance and caution that makes my chest tighten.

 “Relax, Voss,” I whisper, giving her a quick grin. “When have I ever led us astray?” Her raised eyebrow says a lot, but there’s a spark in her look that affects me more than it should. Focus, Jax.

Marcus grunts, shifting his weight. “Time’s running out, Ghost. Let’s go.”

I nod, checking my watch: 2:17 a.m. The dry cleaner’s security is state-of-the-art—lasers, motion detectors, cameras—but Lena’s already bypassed the feeds. She’s a real expert, and I’d kiss her for it if we weren’t working. Maybe later. I signal Evie, who's already moving toward the shop’s front entrance, her hips swaying like she's entering a fancy party, not committing a crime.

 “Showtime,” Evie says softly, her voice smooth and mischievous. She picks the lock quickly, her fingers moving with the grace of a thief who’s never been caught. The door clicks open, and we’re inside.

The shop smells of starch and wealth. Rows of suits hang like silent guards, and Crane’s jacket—black, tailored, exuding luxury—is marked on a rack in the back. Lena’s tablet glows as she deactivates the laser grid, her fingers moving quickly. “Thirty seconds before the system resets,” she whispers urgently. “Hurry up, Jax.”

I move forward quickly, boots silent on the tile, weaving through the racks. My heart’s pounding, not with fear but with excitement—this is what I love to do. The scar on my eyebrow itches, a reminder of the last time a job went wrong. Not tonight. I reach the jacket, pull the button camera from my pocket—a tiny black dot smaller than a dime—and thread a needle with practiced ease. Lena’s breath catches in my earpiece, and I can’t help myself; I glance back. She’s bent over her tablet, auburn hair falling over her face, and she looks like trouble I want to get into.

 “Focus, Malone,” she snaps, like she can sense my eyes on her. My grin widens as I sew the camera into the jacket’s lapel, my fingers steady despite the countdown in my head. Ten seconds. The thread blends perfectly, unnoticeable unless you know where to look.

 “Done,” I whisper, stepping back. Evie’s at the front, chatting with the night worker who’s come in, unsuspecting and charmed. She’s got him laughing about some unimportant thing—probably her “missing” scarf—while Marcus stands near the exit, ready to deal with anyone who interferes.

 “Five seconds,” Lena warns. I slip back through the racks, my pulse racing. The lasers come back on just as I clear the grid, a red network snapping into place behind me. Too close. Lena’s waiting at the door, her tablet put away, her eyes locked on mine. There’s a connection between us, like static before a storm. Her hand brushes mine as we move, and it’s a shock—her skin warm, her fingers roughened from keyboards. I want to grab her, pull her close, but Marcus’s growl in my earpiece ruins the moment.

 “Let’s go, Ghost. We’ve got company.”

I glance out the window. Across the street, a shadow moves—a figure in a long jacket, face hidden. My gut clenches. It’s not a cop, not a guard. Too smooth, too intentional. “Lena, do you see that?” I ask quietly, pointing toward the street.

She squints, her face growing pale. “Not on the cameras. Could be a malfunction… or someone skilled.” Her voice drops, and I know she’s thinking what I am: Dorian Black. That arrogant guy’s been interfering with our jobs for months, always one step ahead, always winning. Not this time.

 “Evie, finish up,” I whisper. She gives the worker a smile, slipping out as he turns to get her “scarf.” We’re out the door in seconds, disappearing into the alley’s darkness. My heart’s still racing, not just from the job but from Lena’s nearness, her breath warm against my neck as we huddle behind a dumpster. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I forget the shadow across the street. I lean in, her lips inches away, the air charged—

 “Jax!” Marcus snaps, pulling me back to reality. He’s pointing at the street, where the figure’s disappeared. Vanished. My skin crawls. Whoever it was, they saw us. They know.

 “Safehouse, now,” I order, my voice sharper than I intend. Lena pulls away, her jaw tight, and I curse myself for letting the moment get out of hand. We move quickly, cutting through alleys, the city’s neon lights chasing us. Evie’s ahead, her hat pulled low, while Marcus covers our back, his size reassuring. Lena’s beside me, her tablet glowing as she checks the camera feed. “It’s working,” she says, relieved. “We’re in Crane’s world now.”

I nod, but my eyes scan the shadows. That figure’s out there, watching, waiting. If it’s Dorian, he’s already planning his next move. And if it’s not… I push the thought aside. One job at a time. The vault’s next, and I’ll be damned if anyone—Dorian, Crane, or some new threat—takes this score from me.

We reach the safehouse, a run-down apartment above a noodle shop, and I lock the door behind us. Lena’s already at her equipment, pulling up the button camera’s feed. Crane’s jacket hangs in the dry cleaner’s, waiting for him to pick it up tomorrow. Step one’s done, but my gut’s telling me we’re not safe yet. I glance at Lena, her face lit by the screen, and feel that attraction again. Trouble’s coming, and it’s not just the heist.

Across the city, someone’s watching us. And they’re closer than I think.