Page 25 of The Eagle's Vault

Isaac was capable, but my success at lock-picking had stirred a pot of doubts. Even still, it was his place on the mission. He had his part to play, and I had mine.

Breathing at feathers and leveraging my contacts.

“Leigh, could you come back here?” Declan pulled me out of my thoughts. “Brie just secured a copy of the Eisenhart VIII’s specs. Downloading them now. We could use your input on the locking mechanism.”

I nodded, moving to rejoin them. What would Isaac say if they insisted I go? Maybe tonight I could run through some things with him, like we’d done when we were younger and it was nothing more than a game. I could prep him, so he’d be ready.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, scanning an email. “Good news. My contact in Antwerp is sending six blanks and a test lock. They should be here tomorrow.”

“Thatisgood news.” Declan smiled. The memory of his suggestion that we sneak off to Castel Sant’Angelo lodged in my chest—if everyone hadn’t been listening in, I would have accepted. “But why only six?”

“That’s all he’s got on hand. He contacted the manufacturer who’s out of stock, too, so I guess we should be happy with what we’ve got coming?”

Declan drummed his fingers on the table. “I have some feeler gauge at home that might be thin enough to feed through the curves. Brie, you at the office?”

“I am.”

“All right. Let’s review the vault specs, and we’ll put together the equipment list and get it shipped over for the morning.”

Who would deliver that quickly? One more mystery on the Reynolds pile.

Chapter 10

Declan

BylateWednesdayafternoon,the team had clocked sixteen hours in our rented office. Leigh was lost in her work, a brilliant blur against the humdrum of our temporary Roman headquarters. She’d tied her hair back in her typical ponytail. It swished rhythmically as she focused, adding a kind of music to the methodical sounds of a hand file meeting brass.

She worked patiently, intently. A key took form underneath her experienced touch, her quiet diligence drawing Jayce in.

Yesterday, Jayce ran her through relaxation and focus exercises. Today, Leigh was the teacher.

It wasn’t just the work that caught my attention—it was thewayshe worked. No rough edges, no hurried movements, only grace and understanding. It was art. And the artist was explaining her process with a voice so soft it blended with the soothing scrape of metal on metal, creating something akin to a meditation.

“See this?” Leigh whispered, turning the key in her hand to show Jayce the precise grooves that she’d filed. Her fingers moved, tracing the contours like she was revealing the secrets of a much-loved story.

Jayce, usually as restless as a squirrel, sat still, snacking slowly, absorbed by Leigh’s teaching.

It was such a contrast to Isaac’s showy demonstrations. I stretched my hand out from the way it had involuntarily curled into a fist, the mental image of Leigh’s shoulders dropping each time Isaac spoke chafing.

Isaac was all talk, announcing every success as a testament to his supposed brilliance—when he had them.

But Leigh? Leigh had a different way about her. Her work was quiet, meticulous, more about the craft than the applause. It was the difference between a peacock and a nightingale. And damn, if that didn’t make me want her all the more.

There was no way she was the one who’d created the manuscript case we’d found in Boston three weeks ago. She wouldn’t be working with a group like Fenix. Maybe Isaac, but it was obvious he wasn’t talented enough.

That was a problem for another day.

The chain key blanks had arrived a few hours ago, courtesy of Leigh’s friend in Antwerp. I’d planned to get my hands on them, get a feel for the metal, the shape, the possible hidden surprises. Yet Jayce’s unquenchable curiosity had pulled Leigh into an impromptu lesson with a standard key, which had turned out more captivating than I’d expected.

Leigh had Jayce insert the key into the lock, wiggle it back and forth a few times, then extract it. “See the marks? That’s where the pins require more space and we need to file some more.”

“I can totally do that.” Jayce took over, and I had to fight against my jaw clenching. Filing wasn’t dangerous, but all we needed was for our thief to jab a sharp file into her palm and put her out of commission.

What if Will could whip something up to scan the interior profile of the chain lock so we could create a replica of the keys using our 3D printer? If it worked, we’d be shaving hours off our prep time, and that was time we needed.

Although, hauling the printer into the vault was a no-go. We needed a lighter-weight solution. One more challenge for me to hand over to Will.

I glanced at the table where the chain key blanks lay. Six of them, all shiny and untouched.

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