Three months of planning had left Roven with precisely one problem.
They needed a woman.
Roven had charted the security rotations, accounted for the cameras and studied every restricted corridor around Reyner Ventnor's private exhibition until all three of them could navigate the building blind. But Ventnor himself remained unavoidable—and getting his attention elsewhere required someone none of them had.
Inside a black SUV parked opposite a quiet café, Roven studied the photograph of the silver-haired curator displayed on the tablet between the seats, both hands on the screen.
"We need someone Ventnor hasn't seen before. Attractive enough to hold his attention, convincing enough to belong there, and completely unconnected to us."
Tormod rested one tattooed arm on the passenger door, considering that, and Roven let him finish.
"Alma could do it. She's attractive, knows how to work a room and wouldn't panic."
Ari immediately looked up from his laptop in the back, which meant he had not been working.
"Absolutely fucking not. Alma is insane."
"You slept with her,"
Tormod reminded him.
"Exactly. My opinion is peer-reviewed."
Roven ignored both of them.
"She's already worked with us. Too risky."
That was the problem. Every woman they knew was either connected to previous jobs, recognizable in the wrong circles or accompanied by complications none of them needed. Ari eventually abandoned the argument and looked through the tinted window.
Then you walked past.
He went completely still.
"Oh, fuck."
Tormod didn't even turn around.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"You made the noise."
Roven glanced up at that, following Ari's stare through the windshield. Tormod reluctantly did the same.
Silence settled inside the SUV.
You continued down the sidewalk, entirely unaware that three men had just forgotten what they'd been arguing about.
Ari slowly leaned between the front seats, grinning.
"Tell me I'm fucking wrong."
Tormod watched you for another moment before dragging his attention away.
"She's a random woman. We don't know her name, whether she can lie, whether she's connected to anyone—"
"We know Ventnor would notice her,"
Ari cut in, already closing his laptop.
"She's fucking perfect."
Roven remained quiet longer, studying you as you moved farther away. When Ari reached for the door handle, Tormod caught the back of his jacket before Roven had decided whether to let him.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Recruiting."
"We are not grabbing some random-ass woman off the street because you like her face."
Ari looked genuinely offended.
"I like considerably more than her face."
"Ari."
"She's getting away."
"She's walking. People do that."
Ari twisted toward Roven, clearly expecting support. Roven looked from him to you, then at the months of planning sitting uselessly on the tablet, and knew he wanted you and that the plan was only the reason he had.
Finally, he sighed.
"Go talk to her."
Ari's grin was immediate.
"I fucking knew you loved me."
Tormod released his jacket with a disgusted shove.
"Both of you have lost your fucking minds."
Nevertheless, when Ari climbed out, Tormod followed seconds later—apparently unwilling to let him conduct anything resembling recruitment unsupervised. Roven watched them make it several steps before muttering something about amateurs and joining them.
By the time the three Nightjars reached you, Ari had already arranged his face into something dangerously charming.
"Excuse me. This is going to sound slightly insane."
Tormod stopped beside him, broad arms folding across his chest.
"Slightly is doing a lot of fucking work there."
"I'm trying to be approachable."
"You're failing."
Roven arrived on Ari's other side and took one measured look at you from this close. Whatever reservations he had brought out of the SUV did not survive it.
"We have a proposition."
Ari glanced at him.
"Jesus Christ. And you thought my approach was bad?"
Tormod's mouth twitched despite himself.
"Just tell her."
Ari turned back to you, amusement still dancing across his face.
"We need someone for a job."
Roven calmly added,
"You fit what we need."
And Tormod, apparently deciding someone should give her at least one useful warning, looked between his two partners before meeting your eyes.
"You should probably hear the details before either of these idiots makes it sound reasonable."