Nyxara Rising
Nobody thinks to check the pipes until water’s pooling at their feet.
Nyxara stood in her command room, bare feet pressed against cool tile, her hair twisted up and out of her way, sleeves rolled to her elbows. The city’s neon flickered in the background, but she didn’t see it. Her world was distilled into twelve monitors casting a blue glow, each one a window into the veins of global commerce and crime. None yet showed the vault. That was by design. Patience was a knife she’d learned to hold carefully.
“Phase one,” she breathed, and the gears began to turn.