Dawn Walker-Chapter 196: Midnight Theft IV

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Sekhmet moved like a man who had learned how to keep his heart steady in places where panic killed faster than enemies.

They reached a narrow observation slit—an old ventilation gap overlooking the corridor below. From here, Sekhmet could see them.

Dickon.

Reyan.

Fifty-plus bodies.

The distribution was exactly what Auri had reported.

Two rank three.

Seven rank two.

The rest rank one and below.

His eyes narrowed. "Too many to kill cleanly without noise. Too many to let them leave with nothing."

He did not want a massacre inside the city.

Not tonight. Not right before the auction.

But he also would not allow them to walk out with his dignity in their hands. He will capture them. If they don’t compromise they will be his food.

He spoke in a voice barely above breath.

"Wait."

The twins did not argue.

They understood the tone.

Below, the treasury door began to open. Reyan and Dickon and fifty men hear the sound, Creak...

A thin line of darkness appeared first. Then the line widened. The hinge groaned softly like a throat opening.

The door moved another inch.

Another.

The air coming out of the vault felt colder, heavier, as if the room inside had been holding its breath for days.

Dickon leaned forward.

Reyan’s face tightened with anticipation.

The men behind them went still.

Even the rank-two fighters quieted, because everyone knew this moment. The moment the door opened and greed became real.

The treasury door opened enough to see inside. It was not fully open. But just enough to see.

And in that exact moment, their expressions changed. Shock struck them all at once.

Not fear yet. Not understanding.

Just the first violent crack of expectation hitting reality and breaking in the wrong direction.

Dickon’s smile froze.

Reyan’s hand went rigid on the handle.

One of the rank-two men whispered without meaning to.

"What..."

A rank-three escort’s eyes narrowed.

The corridor behind them felt suddenly too quiet, because fifty men had all stopped breathing properly at the same time.

No one spoke again.

Because whatever was inside the vault was not what any of them expected.

And before any of them could understand it, the night around them had already begun to close —quietly, patiently— like a trap that had been waiting for the door to open.

The treasury door opened wider and wider. The first thing they felt was cold.

Not a normal cold.

The kind of cold that belonged to sealed stone rooms where valuable things were supposed to sleep.

But when the lamp light spilled inside, there was no glitter.

No stacked chests. No legendary glow. No weapon racks. No artifact hum. Nothing.

Just an empty stone. A clean vault.

Clean enough to feel intentional.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

Fifty men stood frozen in the corridor, staring into the mouth of a room that should have been full of treasure and was instead full of mockery.

Dickon’s smile cracked like thin ice.

Reyan’s fingers tightened around the handle, confused at first, then suddenly terrified.

One of the Rank One thugs laughed once, a nervous stupid sound.

Then he stopped when nobody else laughed.

A Rank Two stepped forward, squinting into the room like the treasure might be hidden behind air.

"There’s... nothing," he muttered.

The words landed like a slap.

Dickon’s breath became sharp. He stepped to the threshold and shoved the door open harder.

The door slammed against its stop. The lamp light flooded the vault.

Empty. Only a stone floor. Stone walls.

A single pedestal in the center.

And on the pedestal—

A wooden plaque.

Simple. Cheap. Ridiculous.

A carved hand stood upright on it. Not a noble hand. Not a statue hand.

A hand with one finger raised. It was the middle finger. The finger looked almost polite in its craftsmanship.

Like someone had taken time to make the insult elegant.

A small rune circle glowed under the plaque, and the moment the light touched it, a word window rose in the air above the pedestal like a floating announcement in a tavern.

MESSAGE: FUCK YOU

For two full breaths, silence ruled. Then the corridor exploded.

"What is this!"

"Where are the items!"

"Is this a joke!"

"Someone check the walls!"

Two Rank Ones rushed into the vault, boots slamming stone.

They kicked the corners, slapped the walls, checked the floor like idiots, as if ten legendary items might be hiding behind an invisible curtain.

Nothing. No secret compartments. No false panels. No hidden racks.

Just the finger. Just the message. Just humiliation.

Dickon’s face turned red so fast it looked like his blood had boiled.

He whirled on Reyan.

"What is this," Dickon hissed.

Reyan backed up, hands lifting instinctively.

"I—I don’t know," he stammered. "It was here. I swear it was here. I saw the transfer. I have the key. I—"

Dickon grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the corridor wall.

Wham!

Reyan’s head hit a stone. He gasped, eyes watering.

Dickon’s voice rose, sharp and shaking with rage.

"You told me he stored ten legendary items here," Dickon snarled. "You told me you had the key. You told me we would empty it and laugh tomorrow!"

Reyan choked.

"I did!" he insisted, voice cracking. "I did! I swear! How could he— how would he know—"

One of the Rank Three escorts stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"Stop squealing," he said coldly. "You were bait."

Reyan froze.

The word hit him harder than Dickon’s grip.

Bait.

Another Rank Two looked around the corridor suddenly, his gaze shifting to shadows, to ceiling beams, to the corners where torchlight did not reach.

His voice went quieter.

"This feels wrong," he murmured.

The first Rank Three escort’s eyes sharpened.

"It is wrong," he said. "We were led."

Dickon’s grip tightened until Reyan’s throat strained.

Reyan’s feet scraped the floor as he tried to breathe.

"You set me up," Dickon hissed, not even sure who he was accusing anymore. "You stupid dog!"

Reyan’s eyes were wide with panic.

"I’m not— I’m not— I didn’t—"

A Rank One thug near the back suddenly pointed.

"Someone’s here!"

Heads turned. A shift in the air. Not footsteps. Presence.

A cold pressure sliding into the corridor like a blade entering skin.

Then Sekhmet stepped out of the shadowed side route behind them.

Not rushing. Not dramatic. Just there.

His eyes were calm.

Cold.

The kind of calm that made people feel like they were already dead and only hadn’t realized it yet.

For half a second, nobody moved because their brains struggled to place him.

This was supposed to be a silent theft.

Not a confrontation.

Not a trap.

But the empty vault and the raised finger had already proven the truth.

Sekhmet had known. He had been waiting. He looked at Dickon first. Then, at Reyan pinned against the wall. Then, at the fifty men filled his corridor like rats in a pantry.

His voice came out even and quiet.

"Reyan," Sekhmet said.

Reyan’s eyes snapped toward him, desperate.

"Young master—"

Sekhmet cut him off with one flat word.

"Trash."

Reyan flinched like he had been punched.

Dickon’s face twisted, anger and humiliation colliding.

"You," Dickon spat. "You set this up!"

Sekhmet’s lips curved faintly.

"Yes," he replied.

One of the Rank Two fighters lifted his blade.

"Kill him!"

Sekhmet did not flinch. He looked past them slightly, toward the upper ledge. His voice stayed calm.

"Vera. Vela."

Above, two shadows shifted. The twins dropped. And the corridor stopped being a corridor. It became a battlefield.