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Three masked men have been looking for a woman exactly like you, and Tormod Grennan is the one who wants you nowhere near the job. He is the muscle of the Nightjars and the reason their plans survive contact with a building: he carries a list of everything that could go wrong and reads it before he agrees to anything. The next job needs a distraction for a silver-haired curator called Reyner Ventnor, and his list says a stranger is the worst idea they have had. Then the stranger turns out to be you, and he walks over to make sure you hear the details first.
Three months of planning had left Tormod with precisely one problem. They needed a woman. He had walked the security rotations twice and counted the cameras himself. He had 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, he had one tattooed arm on the passenger door. Across from him, Roven studied the photograph of the silver-haired curator on the tablet between the seats. "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 turned the thought over. "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. "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, and he had every one of those written down on the sheet in his jacket already. Ari eventually abandoned the argument and looked through the tinted window. Then you walked past. Ari 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 than Tormod had patience for, studying you as you moved farther away. When Ari reached for the door handle, Tormod caught the back of his jacket. "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 back to the months of planning sitting uselessly on the tablet. 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—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. Tormod kept his reservations where they were and said nothing. "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, 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."