Page 125 of Cashmere Ruin

Yuri sits down next to her. Gingerly, he takes her hand in his. “So are we…?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I’m not gonna dump you for keeping one flimsy secret from me. You’re not even good at it.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, all the sneaking around, the guilty puppy looks. It was like you couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“She thought you were either going to drop on one knee or drop off the face of the earth,” I whisper jokingly into his ear, not nearly low enough to be subtle. “For God’s sake, brother, do better.”

Grisha clears his throat. “Hate to ruin the moment for our two lovebirds…”

“Yes, yes, the plan.” Petra waves him on. “Let me guess. These are our starring roles?”

“They are,” I confirm.

Everyone picks up the folder with their name on it. “Yuri, you’ll be first up. I want you to plant a small bomb in the sewers under here.”

“The basement?” he frowns. “Why?”

“The mole will expect us to go through the roof.”

“Because that’s what you told thevoryyou’d do,” Grisha realizes.

“Exactly. If there really is a mole, we’ll use them to our advantage. No one will be looking at the basement floor.”

“How small a bomb are we talking?” Yuri asks.

“Small enough to make it look like the floor caved in on its own. We don’t want to draw attention, not yet.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Grisha says. “What next?”

“Next, you come in. You’ll hack into their communication system and intercept their call to the repairmen.”

“Let me guess,” Petra drawls. “That’s where I come in?”

“It is. You’ll pretend to be the secretary of a repair company and send in a crew.”

“Our men, I take it?”

“Exactly.”

Yuri’s eyes light up with understanding. “So that other plan…”

“Was to keep thevorybusy. And smoke out the mole.”

“How?”

I smirk. “You’ll see. We’ll all see, soon enough.”

38

MATVEY

After the meeting, I decide to get home early and properly thank my muse. But once again, I’m greeted by a familiar sight: scattered clothes everywhere. “April…?”

“Here!” The voice comes from a pile of black suit jackets. I have no idea how they’re different, but one glance tells me where they must come from: the factory.

“Taking a nap in the prototypes?” I ask as I approach cautiously.

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