𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲
𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗍 𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗇

𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱| 𝟢𝟪.𝟢𝟧.𝟤𝟢
𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱| 𝗇/𝖺
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁|𝟣𝟤𝟤𝟣
𝘁𝘄| 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾,
𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌,
𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀| 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗇,
𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗂, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝖻

𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘇𝘂𝗲𝗹𝗮
𝟤:𝟥𝟦 𝖺𝗆

𝗖𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗢𝗡 𝗚𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗗, 𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗗 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗢𝗟𝗧 𝗖𝗨𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦. The lock on the outside of the storage container didn't budge. The woman next to him snickered, watching as the lanky man started to struggle.

Cameron could just make her out in the harsh darkness that blanketed the cargo yard, huffing in annoyance. He stepped back, bolt cutters dropping to his side. "Shut up, Ishani. Think you can do better, yeah?" His accent was thick, almost indecipherable as he whispered.

Her mouth twitched upward. "You're lucky I took care of the security feed—now no one has to witness that bloody awful performance. Hold this," she told him confidently, shoving the laptop she was holding into his free hand and taking the bolt cutters from him. "It's not my fault your arms are like toothpicks. Real hardcore, you are." But the grin on Ishani's face faded as she clamped down with all her strength, the lock refusing to break. She kicked at the door in protest, grumbling.

"You were saying?" Cameron raised an eyebrow. "We ought to wait for Haden."

Ishani sighed, sitting on the ground with her back to the container. She gestured for her laptop, snatching it a bit unceremoniously from Cameron. She opened it, the glow of the screen illuminating her face as she typed. "His tracker's transmitting, but it's practically useless since we're within a mile of each other. Here—see?"

Cameron crouched down next to her awkwardly, eyes searching for the blip on the satellite image that represented Haden. The red dot was right on top of their own—he was close by. "I wonder what's taking him. If he wasn't so paranoid, we—"

Suddenly, a series of three gunshots went off in rapid secession, echoing in the near distance. Ishani let out a small, frightened gasp, hand covering her mouth. "Oh—fucking hell."

Cameron blinked rapidly, craning his neck to try and assess where the sound had come from. "We've got to talk to him about restraint. I swear, if we ever get caught, it'll be because of him."

Ishani just laughed, enjoying the expression on the man's face. "He's American—that probably won't go over well."

They sat quietly for a few, tense minutes, until a lone figure emerged from a row of shipping containers.

"You almost gave Ishani a heart attack," Cameron said jokingly.

Haden studied the pair critically, hand on his hip. The fit blonde was built like a linebacker, .45 shoved into the waistband of his jeans. His front was covered in blood, so fresh that it dripped off his boots; pooling on the ground. "I was right—they've got a guard walking around now." He grinned. "Probably 'cause of last year's visit. I took care of it. Meanwhile you guys are just sittin' on your asses."

"We tried the lock," Cameron shot at him. "It won't open."

"It won't open—" Haden began, picking up the bolt cutters. "—or you just can't open it?" The lock cut easily and cleanly with a simple snap. He kicked the discarded pieces aside, rolling his eyes. "When Richie stuck me with you two, I didn't think I'd have to wear the pants," Haden pried open the container, the enormous doors creaking ominously. "Now you can do your nerd shit—go on."

"You're not in charge," Cameron told him crossly, brushing past Haden.

"Yeah, then who is?"

"Not you," Ishani snickered, using her phone's flashlight to sweep the inside of the container. It was mostly empty, home to two dozen or so neatly labeled wooden crates; stacked against the walls in sections. "Besides, I don't get off on being ordered around."

Haden said something incoherent under his breath, electing to ignore her. He pried the top off one of the crates, peering inside. "Cam—look. What about this?"

The other man gave the contents a once over, shaking his head. "Ishani, show him."

Ishami pulled a picture up on her phone, holding it out to them. "It's these...things..." she tried, looking to Cameron.

"They're arrowheads—part of a collection on loan from the Natural History Museum in New York."

"But like, much can they be worth?" Haden's brow knit, eyeing the picture skeptically. "We've gone after...bigger."

"To the right collector, they're priceless. Rich people are into anything, I dunno. Richie set everything up with the buyer, so it's not our problem." Cameron clamored around a larger crate, setting down what looked to be some of the smallest ones in the container. "They're probably in here somewhere," he nudged the crates with his toe. "Doesn't mean we can't do a little shopping for ourselves. There's bound to be something a bit more enticing."

"Now you're speaking my language, Cambridge boy." Haden looked like a kid on Christmas, trying to figure out which crate to open next. "Think they got any mummy shit?"

"Don't be a child about it," Ishani scolded, setting her laptop down so she could dig through a nearby crate. "We—oh—what about this? Cameron!" She held up the small glass case that housed a handful of arrowheads, letting Cameron inspect it.

"This looks right—that was quick."

"I'm just that good," she smiled, moving on to another crate. "I bet it'd take you boys an hour."

Haden was dumbfounded. "It literally could have been anywhere. That was just luck—"

"Let it go," Cameron advised quietly, suppressing a snort. "Go find something shiny to keep you busy on the plane."

"...Mm—hah—real funny. Why don't—"

Haden's phone buzzed, causing both Cameron and Ishami to turn expectantly. He fished it out of his pocket, reading the name on the screen. "It's Richie." He answered it, putting it on speakerphone. "Hey—I'm with Cam and Iz."

"...I'll take it there weren't any...complications?" Richie asked crisply.

The three of them exchanged looks.

"Uh—"

"Haden, um—took care of it," Cameron spoke up, noting that the blood that coated Haden's clothing was beginning to dry.

"Good. Although I'm working on filling our...vacancy, so don't get too comfortable with all that."

"You found someone?" Ishani sounded skeptical. "It hasn't been that long."

"Not exactly," Richie paused, voice crackling over the phone a bit. "Nathan's funeral's tomorrow, I think I'm going to approach Chloé about it when I see her."

"Chloé?" Haden pursed his lips. "Are you serious?"

"...Yes. Why not? She's good for it. Nate taught her well."

"But she's..." Cameron trailed off. "She's...been out of the game since...pretty much ever. We need the same airtight consistency. She can't give us that."

"I'm pulling rank on this one," Richie decided. "If I somehow can't convince her, we can have that discussion at another time. For now, I just want you and the merchandise on the plane to Macao—I'll meet you at the rendezvous point."

The call ended, leaving Haden to stare at his reflection in the black screen, trying to process what Richie had just told them. "...Oh, this'll be good."

♡︎