CHAPTER 161: DEAL DONE

The air between us thickened, heavy with that familiar push and pull. Doran never came without a reason—every smile he wore was just a mask over some scheme.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Steal the spotlight? Hah. You couldn’t if you tried. The age of Doran, the great phantom thief, is long past. These days, the only thing you steal is food from the kitchen."

His laughter boomed, unbothered, shaking the dust from the rafters. "Oh, I missed that tongue of yours. Always sharper than your blade. Careful—it’ll be your tongue that gets you killed someday, not your enemies."

"Or maybe it’ll be the teacher who dies first, for being too loud." My gaze flicked toward the door. "If you plan to keep your head attached, stop drawing attention. This is no place for your antics."

Doran only smirked, tilting his head. "There it is—the paranoia I trained into you. Good. But don’t forget, boy—shadows are my playground. Even under this ducal roof, I move freer than you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Big words for someone who got caught."

That jab landed. His grin twisted into a grimace, but only for a heartbeat before he leaned in close, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Caught? Don’t flatter yourself. I let you see me. If I didn’t want to be found, you’d still be talking to that poor, innocent maid."

A cold silence passed between us, broken only by the faint creak of the old floorboards.

"Please. You’d trip over your own shadow before you could ever fool me."

Doran arched an eyebrow, feigning offense.

"Bold words for someone still polishing his tricks with borrowed polish."

"Borrowed?" I tilted my head, smirking. "If I recall, you only taught me the basics. The rest..." I spread my hands casually, "I perfected myself. You wouldn’t recognize half the things I can do now."

He barked out a laugh. "There it is! That arrogance I know. Good. At least I didn’t waste my time." His smile darkened into a sharp grin. "But don’t mistake yourself for a master just yet. You’ve made noise, yes, but noise alone doesn’t make a legend."

I leaned back against the desk, arms crossed.

"And yet, it’s my name—not yours—that keeps the guildmasters up at night. ’Faceless Imposter’—they whisper it like a curse. Meanwhile, you..." My gaze flicked over him with deliberate laziness. "...you’re reduced to sneaking into houses dressed as a scullery maid. Tell me again—who’s really the master, and who’s the apprentice now?"

The grin on Doran’s face faltered—just for an instant. Then he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Cheeky brat. You always did bite the hand that fed you." His eyes gleamed dangerously. "Careful. Pride sharpens a blade, but it also snaps it."

"Then I’ll just forge a sharper one," I shot back, meeting his gaze without blinking.

For a long moment, silence stretched between us, tension coiling like a drawn bowstring. Then Doran’s grin returned—wolfish this time, sharp enough to cut.

"Good. That’s what I wanted to hear."

Something about him was off. He wasn’t usually like this—at least, not with me.

I leaned back slightly, folding my arms. "Anyway, since you’re here, I assume you’re going to teach me something... right?"

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "Well, there’s that. But more than teaching, I’ve got plans of my own. A big job before I retire."

"Retire?" My brow arched. "You, calling it quits? I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word."

Doran turned, making a circle with his thumb and index finger as if framing the air itself, then wagged his arm with theatrical flair. Seeing him do it while still half in that ridiculous maid’s outfit was... less inspiring than he probably thought.

"I plan to make a hefty profit on my final heist," he said with relish.

"So the loot from the West wasn’t enough for you?" I clicked my tongue, sharp as a whip crack. "Those artifacts you smuggled could’ve built a fortress, bought you three new hideouts, and left coin to spare."

"You don’t understand," he said with a scoff, shaking his head like I was a dull child. "When you’re stepping out of the game, you don’t leave crumbs on the table. You sweep up everything—even the specks. That’s the rule."

I narrowed my eyes. "So, who’s your target this time?"

It couldn’t be here, surely not the Draken Ducal House. The place had a hole in its defenses since the guardian deity’s death, yes—but even Doran wasn’t reckless enough to pull a stunt under the duke’s nose.

Fortunately, my hunch was wrong. He reached into his pocket and produced a slip of black parchment, thin and glossy like a ribbon soaked in midnight.

My breath caught.

"That is..."

His grin widened. "Oh, so you do recognize it."

Of course I did. How could I not? It was the entrance ticket to the very place I’d been plotting to infiltrate myself. The underground black market auction.

"The top artifact up for bid," Doran said, voice low with satisfaction, "will be the centerpiece of my retirement party."

I tilted my head, studying him. "Hmm. Is that so?"

A stage set by a phantom thief of legend. A stage I’d already marked for my own game.

"Then," I said at last, lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile, "may I join as a partner in this endeavor?"

He barked a laugh, not out of kindness but sheer amusement.

I leaned forward slightly, letting my voice drop into something razor-thin. "After all, don’t hog all the spoils for yourself. Sharing a little with your disciple wouldn’t kill you, would it? Love flows downward, master to apprentice... isn’t that how it goes?"

Doran’s laughter rattled through the room like coins spilling across stone.

"Love? Hah! Don’t twist your tongue into poetry, boy. You know damn well thieves don’t share out of love—we share out of leverage."

I smirked, tilting my head. "Then think of it as insurance. You can’t pull this job without someone who knows the layout better than you."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading into something keener. "Bold claim. What makes you think I haven’t already mapped every corner of that place?"

"Because I know you." I leaned back, tapping the desk idly with two fingers. "You’re meticulous, sure, but not omniscient. That auction’s been rebuilt three times in the last decade, each under a different host. Security rotates every six months. You didn’t get those updates. I did."

Doran’s lips curled upward, but it wasn’t a smile—it was the bare flash of teeth before a wolf bites.

"You’ve grown cocky. Few months ago you would’ve never said something like that to me."

"few months ago I was still a newbie ," I shot back. "Now I know almost all places of north."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

Then, to my surprise, he laughed again—low this time, almost genuine. "Good. That spine suits you."

The glint in his eyes sharpened—approval mixed with challenge. He pulled a chair back with one boot and sat, folding his arms across his chest. The parchment ribbon spun idly between his fingers like a coin trick.

"So. Suppose I entertain this ridiculous notion of partnership," he said at last, his voice dripping with mock indulgence.

I arched a brow, feigning indifference. "Ridiculous notion? You wouldn’t have sat down if you weren’t already considering it."

His chuckle was low, edged with amusement. "Confident little brat. You sound more like a merchant than a thief these days—selling me my own job."

"Merchants walk away with a profit," I countered, leaning back in my chair. "Thieves? They walk away with scars, if they’re lucky. So tell me, Doran... which do you want this time?"

His grin sharpened. "Both."

I couldn’t help but smirk. "Greedy old man."

"And you’re not?" His eyes glinted, the parchment ribbon twirling faster between his fingers. "Don’t play saint. You want this as much as I do."

"More," I corrected smoothly. "Because unlike you, I don’t intend to retire. Every move I make builds a legend. This auction? It’s the kind of stage that etches names into history. So if you think I’ll let you waltz in and claim the prize alone, you’re mistaken."

Doran tilted his head, studying me with that infuriatingly calm stare of his. Then he barked a laugh. "Hah! There it is—the arrogance of youth. You talk as if you’re already my equal."

I met his stare without blinking. "I am."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, slowly, his grin returned—wolfish, mocking, but laced with something heavier. Approval.

"Fine," he drawled. "I’ll humor you. We work together." He leaned forward, dropping the ribbon of parchment onto the desk between us. "But don’t mistake partnership for trust. I’ll slit your throat the moment you slow me down."

I smirked, tapping the parchment with one finger. "Likewise."

Our eyes locked over the thin strip of midnight paper, a spark of rivalry burning hotter than any alliance.

Doran chuckled again, shaking his head. "Hells, boy. You’re starting to sound more like me than I’d like."

I leaned back, arms crossed. "Correction: I sound better."

That earned me another booming laugh, rattling through the rafters.

And just like that, the deal was sealed—fragile, dangerous, and guaranteed to end in betrayal.

Exactly the way thieves preferred it.