Chapter 283: The Double Blind

The ascent up the glass face of the Wynn Macau was pure agony.

The wind whipping off the South China Sea had picked up since I left. It hit me in gusts that tried to push me sideways off the building. It tore at my tactical suit and made the ascender line vibrate against my harness. Every pull felt heavier than the last.

My muscles were already cooked from the twenty-nine flights of stairs in Taipa. My shoulders burned. My forearms were on fire. Lactic acid sat in my biceps like lead.

I ignored it.

I kept my eyes focused on the glass in front of me, ignoring the terrifying, fifty-story drop below me. One hand over the other. Breathe. Pull. Lock. Repeat. The city lights blurred below. Cars looked like ants.

"You’re approaching the forty-ninth floor," Claire whispered in my ear. Her voice was barely there. "The Shadow’s suite. Keep your profile tight against the mullions."

I slowed my ascent. Inch by inch.

The windows of the suite directly below mine were dark except for one. A faint, blue glow leaked through the sheer curtains. A laptop.

I could see the silhouette through the glass. The Imperial Shadow was sitting at a desk, her back to the window. Her head was down. She was analyzing the fabricated financial data Nia was feeding her. Typing. Scrolling. She never looked up.

I held my breath and slid past the glass like a shadow. No silhouette. No reflection. Just black fabric moving against blacker glass.

My arms screamed.

I reached the balcony of my penthouse three minutes later. The heavy steel railing was cold under my gloves. I hauled myself over and collapsed onto the polished marble floor.

My chest was heaving. I lay there for thirty seconds, letting the Vanguard conditioning regulate my heart rate. In. Out. Flush the lactic acid. Kill the tremor in my hands.

"I’m in," I murmured, unhooking the carabiner. The sound was soft.

"You have exactly two minutes," Nia said. Her voice was tight with urgency. "The Shadow just logged off the honeypot network. She’s moving toward her suite door. She’s going to do a physical perimeter check of your penthouse."

I scrambled to my feet. The marble was cold through my boots.

I grabbed the canvas bag, sprinted into the master bedroom, and moved.

Tactical suit off. Shoved into the hidden compartment in the closet. The door clicked shut.

White hotel bathrobe on. Over boxers. Bare feet. I ruffled my hair with both hands until it looked like I’d been asleep. I splashed water on my face. My eyes were red from wind and exhaustion. Good. That would sell it.

I walked into the living room. The room was perfect. No wet footprints. No gear. No open balcony door. I grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the minibar, poured a glass, and took a slow sip. The bubbles burned my throat.

A soft, polite knock echoed from the heavy mahogany front door of the penthouse.

Three knocks. Professional.

My heart rate spiked once, then I buried it.

I took a deep breath. Buried the exhausted, adrenaline-fueled operative. Brought the arrogant, insulated billionaire to the surface. Shoulders back. Annoyance on my face.

I walked to the door and pulled it open.

Standing in the hallway was a young woman wearing a crisp Wynn Macau concierge uniform. Black vest. White shirt. Name tag. She held a silver tray with a folded newspaper and a fresh pot of coffee. Steam rose from the spout.

But the eyes were wrong. Too sharp. Too assessing.

They belonged to the Imperial Shadow.

"Mr. Croft," she said. Her voice was perfectly modulated to sound like a polite hotel employee. Soft. Apologetic. "I apologize for the late hour. The front desk received an automated alert that your suite’s climate control system was malfunctioning. I was sent to verify."

It was a flawless pretext to check the room.

She needed to see inside. See if the balcony was open. See if I looked like I’d just run in from outside. See if Noah Reed had left the building.

I leaned against the doorframe. One hand holding the glass of water. The other rubbing my temple. I let my expression go flat with profound, exhausted irritation.

"My climate control is fine," I said. My voice was thick with sleep and annoyance. I let it drag. "What isn’t fine is being woken up at four in the morning by the concierge. I pay thirty thousand dollars a night for this suite specifically so I don’t have to deal with automated alerts."

I shifted my weight. Let the robe slip a little on my shoulder.

She looked past me. Her eyes swept the living room in one fast pass.

Marble floors. Clean. Couch untouched. Minibar closed. Balcony doors shut and locked. No sign of a tactical suit. No sign of a man who had just scaled fifty stories.

The room was immaculate.

Her gaze flicked back to me. She was reading me. Looking for micro-tells. Elevated breathing. Sweat. Guilt.

I gave her irritation and nothing else.

"I sincerely apologize, Mr. Croft," she said, bowing her head slightly. The movement was perfect. "It must have been a glitch in the system. I will ensure you are not disturbed again."

"See that you do," I said dismissively. I took the silver tray from her hands. The coffee pot was heavy and hot. "Leave the coffee."

I stepped back.

She hesitated half a second. Then she nodded once and turned. Her shoes made no sound on the carpet as she walked away down the hall.

I let the heavy mahogany door swing shut in her face.

Click.

I locked the deadbolt. Two turns.

I set the tray on the console table. My hands were steady.

I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the door and closed my eyes for one second.

"She bought it," I whispered over the comms.

"The digital and physical firewalls are holding," Claire confirmed. I could hear the relief in her voice. She let out a heavy sigh. "Julian Croft was asleep in his bed while Noah Reed was fighting in Taipa. The Empress has no reason to connect the two."

"She doesn’t have a reason yet," I corrected, pushing off the door and walking back toward the bedroom. My legs felt like concrete. "But she’s going to be very angry tomorrow morning."

The bathrobe felt too light. The penthouse felt too quiet.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dark city through the window.

Act one was over.