[Ethan’s POV]

The Hofburg Palace was a monument to absolute power.

Illuminated by hundreds of golden floodlights, the sprawling baroque complex looked less like a building and more like a fortress of marble and statues. A line of black Maybachs and armored Rolls-Royces crawled toward the grand entrance, discharging the wealthiest, most dangerous people in Europe.

I adjusted the cuffs of Julian Croft’s bespoke tuxedo. It was a little tight across the shoulders, pulling uncomfortably at the fresh stitches Claire had put in my flesh a few hours ago, but it fit well enough to pass inspection.

I had been forced to leave the Glock back at the hostel. Isabella’s security was too tight for firearms. Instead, I had a high-density ceramic push-dagger concealed in the lining of my cummerbund, completely invisible to metal detectors.

Claire stepped out of the cab beside me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

The emerald silk gown clung to her perfectly. She had pinned her blonde hair up in an elegant, intricate twist, and the stolen diamond necklace caught the palace lights, throwing fractured rainbows across her collarbone. She didn’t look like the girl who used to study flashcards in the campus coffee shop. She looked like royalty.

"Stop staring, Ethan," she murmured, her lips barely moving as she looped her arm through mine. "You look like a bodyguard. Relax your shoulders. You’re a billionaire hedge fund manager tonight. Act bored."

"Right. Bored," I muttered, forcing my posture to loosen as we walked up the red carpet toward the massive oak doors.

The security checkpoint was intense. Four PMCs in tailored suits stood at the entrance, running discrete magnetic wands over the guests while a fifth checked invitations against a biometric tablet.

I handed over the two gold-foil cards. The guard scanned them, his eyes flicking up to my face.

"Mr. Croft," the guard said in German, his gaze lingering on the slight bruise on my jaw from my fight with Varga. "You’ve had an accident?"

"A disagreement with a very expensive horse," I replied in flawless, unbothered German, channeling every ounce of arrogant entitlement I had ever seen Jake use. "I won. The horse didn’t."

The guard gave a tight, polite smile and handed the invitations back. "Enjoy the summit, sir."

We stepped through the doors and into the grand ballroom.

It was breathtaking. The ceiling was a masterpiece of Renaissance frescoes, framed by massive crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in warm, golden light. Waiters in white gloves circulated with trays of champagne, while a string quartet played softly in the corner.

But beneath the veneer of high society, the room was a viper’s nest.

"Look at them," Claire whispered, taking a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. "That’s Alexei Rostova by the ice sculpture. He runs the largest weapons smuggling ring in the Balkans. And the woman in the red dress? That’s Madame Chen. She controls the shadow banking sector in Macau."

"Isabella brought all her generals to one room," I said, my eyes constantly moving, scanning the exits, the sightlines, and the security personnel.

There were PMCs everywhere. They were dressed in tuxedos, but I could spot them instantly. They stood with their hands clasped in front of them, their eyes tracking the crowd in overlapping sectors. They were guarding the perimeter, the stairwells, and the massive, reinforced steel doors at the back of the ballroom that undoubtedly led to the temporary vault.

"Where is she?" I asked quietly.

"Up there," Claire nodded toward a sweeping marble balcony that overlooked the ballroom floor.

Standing at the edge of the balcony, flanked by four massive bodyguards, was Isabella Vane.

She was wearing a stunning, backless black gown. Her dark hair was styled perfectly, and she held a crystal flute of champagne, looking down at the crowd with an expression of absolute, untouchable superiority.

I stared at her, my eyes narrowing. Nia had made us memorize hours of video footage of Isabella Vane. I knew her mannerisms. I knew the way she moved.

Look for the anomalies, Darius’s voice echoed in my head. A predator never fully relaxes. Even when they’re on the throne, they’re always hunting.

I watched the woman on the balcony take a sip of her champagne. Her grip on the glass was loose. Her eyes were scanning the crowd, but they were tracking the dresses and the jewelry, not the exits. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, a subtle sign of fatigue in her high heels.

"That’s not her," I breathed, the realization hitting me like a bucket of ice water.

Claire turned to me, her smile faltering. "What? Ethan, it looks exactly like her."

"It’s a body double," I said, my voice tight. "Isabella Vane is a paranoid, calculating sociopath. She wouldn’t stand on an open balcony in a room full of criminals while a ghost is actively hunting her.

The woman up there is an actress. She’s relaxed. She’s bored. Isabella is never bored."

"If Isabella isn’t here..." Claire started, her eyes widening.

"Then this whole summit is a trap," I finished. "She knows Jake is coming. She put all her investors in one room, stacked the vault with bait, and put a decoy on the balcony to draw him out."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. I tore my eyes away from the balcony and began scanning the PMCs on the floor, looking for the real threat.

It didn’t take long to find him.

Standing in the shadows beneath the balcony, perfectly still, was Varga.

He was wearing a tuxedo, his silver hair slicked back. His right forearm was heavily wrapped in a flesh-colored cast—a souvenir from the pry bar I had smashed into it on the train. He wasn’t looking at the crowd. He was looking up at the ornate, brass ventilation grates set into the frescoed ceiling.

"Varga figured it out," I whispered, grabbing Claire’s arm and pulling her toward the edge of the room, away from the center of the ballroom. "He knows Jake is going to use the HVAC system. He’s waiting for him to make his move."

"Ethan, if Jake pumps that knockout gas into the room, Varga and his men will be ready for it," Claire said, her voice laced with panic. "They probably have rebreathers or gas masks hidden in their jackets. The moment the gas hits, Jake will walk into the vault thinking everyone is unconscious, and Varga will execute him."

"We have to find the HVAC control room before Jake does," I said, my mind racing. "We have to intercept him." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"The palace is massive," Claire said. "The ventilation hub could be anywhere."

"It’s a historic building," I said, looking at the architecture. "They couldn’t put modern industrial scrubbers on the roof without ruining the aesthetic. It has to be underground. In the sub-basements."

I looked across the room. The only way down to the sub-basements was a set of heavy service doors near the kitchens, currently guarded by two of Varga’s men.

"I need a distraction," I told Claire. "Something loud enough to pull those guards off the door, but not suspicious enough to trigger a full lockdown."

Claire looked at the crowd, then at the towering, five-tier champagne fountain in the center of the room. A dangerous, brilliant smile spread across her face.

"I’m an economics major, Ethan," she said, her eyes flashing. "I know exactly how to create a market crash."