Chapter 9 MC&D didn’t do “urgent.” They did appointments. The Foundation contact text came through with the kind of sterile calm that always meant someone, somewhere, was already angry. LOCATION CONFIRMED. HANDOFF WINDOW: 14:00–14:20. OBJECT: NEUTRALIZED. DO NOT ALLOW THIRD-PARTY CONTACT. MC&D REPRESENTATIVE ON SITE. Shammy read it over Ace’s shoulder and made a noise like she’d just tasted something sour. “Hand-off window. They really do treat reality like a luxury parcel.” Ace’s violet eyes tracked the message twice, fast. “Neutralized.” Mai didn’t look up from the kit table while she said, “Neutralized does not mean harmless.” Ace’s mouth twitched. “It means paperwork thinks it’s harmless.” Shammy leaned against the doorway, arms folded, tall frame somehow making the safe house feel smaller just by existing. “So where’s the meet? Please tell me it’s not in some wine cellar with violin music.” Mai finally raised her gaze. “Helsinki. Private showroom district. Minimal public exposure.” Shammy clapped her hands once. “Violin music, confirmed.” Mai ignored that and continued, voice clipped in the way she used when she wanted the conversation to behave. “We are not engaging in a negotiation. We are facilitating a transfer. If MC&D attempts to claim possession, we deny. If they attempt to escalate, we disengage.” Ace sat on the edge of the table like a small blade waiting to be thrown. “If they try to buy us dinner?” Shammy’s grin snapped into place. “If they try to buy Mai dinner, I want to watch.” Mai did not react. Not a blink. Not a dry little line. Nothing. She said, “We do not accept hospitality from anomalous brokers.” Ace stared at her for a half-beat. It was a perfectly correct sentence. It was also… the kind of sentence you said when you didn’t know what “buy you dinner” meant in context. Shammy, bless her reckless soul, leaned into it anyway. “Okay but hypothetically—if some posh MC&D weasel offers you champagne, do you spit it out in his face or do you politely crush his soul first?” Mai’s eyes flicked to Shammy. Calm. Flat. “We do neither.” Ace’s grin became a little too sharp. “So you’re saying you’d let him live?” Mai’s reply landed like a filing cabinet drawer closing. “We are here to prevent dissemination of an object.” Shammy’s smile held for two seconds, then softened into something else—still playful, but with a new layer underneath. She didn’t push. She simply lifted both hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” Mai didn’t correct the ma’am either. Ace felt the silence like a hairline crack in glass. She glanced at Shammy. Shammy didn’t look back. Instead she busied herself checking her gloves like they were suddenly fascinating. Mai turned back to her tablet. “Departure in ten. Minimal chatter. MC&D feeds on reaction.” Shammy muttered, too quiet to be a full joke, “So do demons.” Mai didn’t respond. Ace’s eyes narrowed—not in suspicion. Not in accusation. More like her instincts had lifted their head from the floor and were sniffing the air. Then Ace stood, rolled her shoulders, and forced lightness back into her voice because lightness was one of the ways she kept their world from becoming a cage. “Fine,” she said. “Minimal chatter. But if we see any violin players I’m taking one as a hostage.” Shammy snorted. “Finally. Crime with purpose.” Mai said, “No.” Ace smiled anyway. “Yes, boss.” Mai did not correct her. — Helsinki in the afternoon had that winter-grey polish—streets clean enough to look expensive, sky low enough to look tired. The showroom district they were sent to wasn’t advertised. It didn’t need to be. Places like this lived in the thin layer between legal and inevitable. The building looked like it housed a design firm: tall windows, muted signage, a lobby that smelled faintly of cedar and money. No obvious security, which meant all security. A Foundation vehicle was already parked around the corner: unmarked, boring, the kind of van you could stare at for a full minute and still not remember. Two agents waited with the object in a hard case that was chained to the van’s interior frame like someone had once watched a heist movie and taken notes. Agent Rissanen wasn’t there. This was a different crew. New faces. Same eyes. One of them—a woman with a jawline like a decision—nodded at Mai. “Triad. You’re on point?” Mai nodded once. “Status.” “Object remains inert,” the agent said. “No thermal drift, no EM anomalies. It’s… quiet.” Ace’s gaze dropped to the case. “Quiet things bite.” The agent hesitated, then offered a tight smile like she’d heard worse. “We’re here to make sure it doesn’t go missing.” Shammy leaned in slightly, voice bright. “So we’re the fun part.” The agent didn’t laugh. “MC&D rep is inside. One person. No additional contacts detected.” Mai’s eyes tracked the building, then the street angles, then the windows. “One person is never one person.” “Agreed,” the agent said. Ace shifted her weight, small body radiating readiness. “Let’s not linger.” Mai stepped toward the case. “I will carry.” The agent unlocked the chain, lifted the hard case with both hands, and offered it. Mai took it effortlessly, as if the weight was irrelevant. Her grip was precise. No strain, no emotion. A courier for something that shouldn’t exist. Ace watched her hands. Perfect. Controlled. A little too… practiced. Shammy fell into step beside Ace and murmured, barely audible, “This place smells like expensive lies.” Ace’s mouth twitched. “So normal MC&D.” They entered. Inside, the lobby was immaculate. A receptionist desk sat empty, but not abandoned—more like someone had stepped away and would return the second you blinked. A sculpture in the corner looked like twisted glass, the kind of art people bought when they wanted their money to look philosophical. A door at the back opened before they reached it. A man stepped out. Not tall. Not imposing. Not flashy. Middle-aged, neat suit, hair combed like it had never met wind. He smiled as if he’d been expecting friends. “Ah,” he said warmly, in smooth Finnish with a faint international accent. “The Triad. Thank you for arriving on time.” Shammy leaned a fraction closer to Ace. “I hate him already.” Mai’s voice was even. “Identify yourself.” The man placed a hand over his heart in a gesture that was pure theater. “Mr. Halonen. Logistics. Marshall, Carter & Dark.” Ace’s eyes stayed on his smile. “Logistics is a cute word for vampires.” Halonen’s smile didn’t change. “We prefer ‘facilitators.’” Shammy sighed. “Of course you do.” Mai didn’t take the bait. “This is a Foundation transfer. Your presence is noted. You are not receiving the object.” Halonen’s eyes flicked to the hard case in Mai’s hands—quick, appraising, like a jeweler spotting a flaw in a diamond. “Naturally. We are not here to… interfere. Only to ensure that the chain of custody remains… intact.” Ace’s eyebrows lifted. “Wow. You sound like you care about rules.” Halonen’s smile widened a fraction. “We care about outcomes.” Shammy murmured, “Gross.” Mai said, “Proceed.” Halonen stepped aside. “This way.” They followed him through a corridor that looked like it belonged in a high-end office—white walls, muted art, carpet that swallowed footsteps. The deeper they went, the quieter the air became. Not the normal quiet of insulation. A deliberate quiet. A room opened at the end: small conference space. Table. Two chairs on one side, one on the other. A single ceiling light with a warm tint that made everything look kinder than it had any right to. No windows. Of course. Halonen gestured politely. “Please.” Mai stepped inside first, set the case on the table without unlocking it. Her posture was straight, her face calm. She didn’t sit. Ace stayed standing beside her like a guard dog with swords. Shammy drifted to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, eyes never leaving Halonen. Halonen sat opposite the case as if it were a guest. “Foundation’s intention is admirable,” he said. “Preventing dissemination. Preventing collectors. Preventing—” Ace cut in. “Preventing you.” Halonen chuckled softly. “We are not always the villain in your story, Ace.” Ace’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t use my name like you know me.” Halonen’s gaze slid to Mai. “Ms. Mai. A pleasure, as always.” Shammy’s head tilted. “Oh, that was smooth.” Mai did not react to being called “a pleasure.” She did not react to the implication of familiarity. She simply said, “State your purpose.” Halonen’s smile never slipped. “Information. Your report to Foundation will include your assessment. We would like your assessment to include one detail: the object is neutralized, yes, but it remains desirable. It will draw attention. If it leaves this city today, there will be attempts.” Mai nodded once. “Noted.” Ace’s mouth twitched. There it was again. Noted. Like a checkbox. Halonen leaned forward slightly. “The Foundation will likely move it to a secure facility. You will likely escort it. Therefore—” Shammy interrupted, sweet as poison. “Therefore you’re here to tell us you’ll try to steal it?” Halonen spread his hands. “Therefore you should not underestimate interest.” Mai’s voice was calm. “We do not underestimate.” Halonen’s eyes flicked again to the case. “Excellent. Then our business is concluded.” Ace blinked. “That’s it?” Halonen smiled at her. “Did you expect bargaining?” Shammy huffed a laugh. “Honestly? Yes. I expected you to offer us champagne and moral decay.” Halonen’s smile turned amused. “We can provide champagne.” Shammy pointed at Mai, grin widening. “See? He’s doing it.” Ace leaned in a fraction, playful edge returning because she couldn’t resist. “Go on then, Mai. Tell him what you usually tell people who offer you champagne.” Normally, that line would’ve gotten something. A dry barb. A flick of disdain. A casual destruction delivered politely. Mai looked at Ace. She paused—only a moment—then said, “We are not here to socialize.” Ace’s grin froze, just for an instant. Shammy’s eyes sharpened. Halonen’s smile didn’t move, but something in his gaze warmed as if he’d just received a gift. “Of course,” he said softly. “Professionalism is… rare.” Shammy pushed off the wall, the motion sharp. “We’re leaving.” Mai picked up the case. “Yes.” Halonen stood smoothly, stepping back to give them space as if he were the one being generous. “Safe travels.” Ace held his gaze a beat longer than necessary. Violet eyes, emerald hum under skin. Halonen didn’t flinch. And that, perversely, annoyed Ace. They walked out. No trap sprang. No alarms. No hidden muscle stepped from the shadows. The corridor stayed quiet. The lobby stayed immaculate. The receptionist desk stayed empty. Shammy muttered, “That was… too easy.” Mai didn’t look back. “We achieved objective.” Ace kept her voice light, but it took effort. “We achieved objective so far.” They reached the door. Cold air hit them like honesty. Outside, the Foundation agents waited by the van, tense. Mai handed the case back without ceremony. The jawline agent stared at Mai. “They didn’t contest?” Mai’s answer was instant. “They did not.” The agent’s frown deepened. “Why?” Mai’s voice stayed clean. “They want us to move it. They want to see how.” Ace’s eyes flicked to Mai. That was a good line. A smart line. The right line. It was missing something else. Some heat. Some disdain. Some Mai. Shammy watched the building behind them. “I didn’t feel it tighten,” she said quietly. The agent looked at her. “Tighten?” Shammy’s mouth twitched. “Like when you walk into a room and the air decides you’ve made a mistake.” Ace nodded faintly. “MC&D rooms usually do that.” Shammy’s eyes stayed on the doors. “This one didn’t.” Mai said, “They were cooperative.” Shammy laughed once, sharp. “MC&D is never cooperative. They’re… polite predators.” Mai didn’t argue. She simply said, “We leave now.” They got in the car. Mai drove again, as if that solved the world. Ace sat in the back seat, small and coiled, watching the showroom building shrink in the rear window until it became just another anonymous rectangle among expensive rectangles. No fireworks. No bargaining. No pressure. Just a smile, a warning, and a door politely held open. And that was the part that gnawed. Because in Vantaa, the building had tried to split them with brute tricks. Here, in Helsinki, the anomaly had done something cleaner. It had let them win. It had watched them move the piece. And it had—somehow—made “Mai” refuse a joke the way a stranger refuses a joke: correctly, politely, and without the familiar spark. Ace let her head rest against the seat for a second and closed her eyes. She could still feel the wrong breathing rhythm from yesterday like an afterimage in her ribs. And now she could feel something else, faint but persistent: the smoothness of Halonen’s smile… …and the chilling sense that the only person in that room who had enjoyed the exchange was the one who had no business enjoying anything at all.