The drive to the hotel took just under thirty minutes, most of it spent in silence. The car hummed smoothly down the asphalt, cutting through the cool Ashoma evening as city lights began to flicker on. Tom sat in the passenger seat, one leg lazily crossed over the other, arms folded as he watched the city blur past. He looked tired, but the kind of tired that buzzed just beneath the skin. Focused. Wired.
When they finally pulled into the hotel lot, Tom leaned forward, peering out the windshield with an appreciative whistle. The building wasn't flashy, there were no golden pillars, no extravagant water fountains outside. But it had a quiet class to it. Pale limestone walls, sharp lines, clean windows, and the faint glow of amber light at the entrance. Subtle, restrained elegance.
"Well," Tom said as he opened the car door, stepping out and stretching. "This is nicer than I expected. Simple, but elegant. I like it."
Gregor climbed out of the driver's seat with less flair. "Same," he muttered, glancing up at the building. "Doesn't look like it wants to be in a perfume commercial. That's a good sign."
Tom chuckled as they crossed the lot and walked into the lobby.
Inside, the air was cool and scented faintly with vanilla and something like cedarwood. A few guests milled about, well-dressed, quiet, respectable types. The receptionist's desk sat at the far end, made of dark walnut, sleek and professional.
Behind it sat a young woman, maybe in her early twenties. Her skin was warm brown, and her hair was a cascade of short, springy curls that stopped just below her ears. She wore a deep green blazer with the hotel's name, Brion, embroidered neatly near the lapel. As soon as she looked up and saw them approaching, her expression brightened.
Well, her expression brightened at Gregor.
Tom noticed it instantly.
Her pupils dilated slightly, and her lips curled into a friendly, genuine smile, warm, just a little shy. "Hi there," she said, her voice light, sweet, and just a touch nervous as she focused on Gregor. "Welcome to the Brion. How can I help you?"
Gregor didn't notice the spark in her eyes or the subtle lift in her posture. His response was immediate, efficient, and gruff.
"Evening," he said with a clipped nod. "Two rooms. Adjoining if possible. One night, maybe more."
The smile on her face faltered for the briefest second, like a candle flickering in a sudden breeze. But she quickly recovered, her fingers moving over the keyboard in front of her.
"Absolutely," she said. "Let me see what we have available."
As she typed, her eyes flicked up again, just a glance, toward Gregor's face. She was intrigued now, even if she couldn't explain why. Maybe it was the seriousness in his tone, the way he held himself like he was permanently alert. Or maybe it was just the way he hadn't smiled at her, like he didn't need to.
She slid two key cards across the counter after a moment. "Rooms 308 and 310. Just down the hall, third floor. I went ahead and connected them for you."
"Thanks," Gregor replied, already turning away.
Even as they walked off, the receptionist watched him, a little dazed, her cheeks flushed faintly pink.
As they stepped into the elevator, Tom couldn't resist. "So… the receptionist."
Gregor raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"
"She was into you."
Gregor blinked. "What?"
Tom leaned back against the wall of the elevator with a smug grin. "Oh come on, man. She practically melted when you said 'evening.' Pupils dilated. That's a classic sign."
Gregor looked genuinely confused. "I didn't notice."
"Exactly," Tom said. "You were so locked into hotel mode, you didn't even see her trying to eye-fuck you through that reception desk."
"That's… unnecessarily graphic."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Gregor didn't respond.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to a quiet hallway, lined with soft carpet and ambient lighting.
Tom stepped out first. "You should go back and get her number. Or at least her Instagram. You never know."
Gregor shook his head firmly. "I don't have time for that."
"Why not?" Tom asked, unlocking the room with a swipe of the keycard. "She was cute. You're single. I'm emotionally unavailable. It's perfect."
Gregor followed him inside. "Because I need to go retrieve the Shadowfang knife before nightfall. Remember? That little artifact we might need to stay alive tomorrow?"
Tom dropped his bag onto the bed and waved a hand lazily. "Right. Serious business. Fine. But for the record, I'd have sealed the deal at the front desk. You just let a perfect meet-cute go cold."
"Yes but someone's gotta have a clear head today," Gregor muttered.
Tom gave him a smirk as he walked over to the window and drew the blinds shut. "My head's always clear."
With that, he swiped his keycard again and locked the door behind them.
The room was clean, modern, and surprisingly spacious. One bed, two desks, and a large smart mirror on the wall. Neutral tones. Minimalist decor. A mounted TV they'd never turn on.
Tom dumped the contents of his bag onto the bed in one chaotic motion. Clothes, wires, gadgets, papers, and protein bars scattered across the sheets. He moved quickly, unbothered, already focused.
Meanwhile, Gregor walked the room with the precision of a man trained to be paranoid. He checked the light fixtures, the wall seams, the corners. He bent down, peering under the bed, ran a hand along the baseboards, even tapped gently on the mirror. Every surface was scrutinized. Every anomaly noted.
When he was done, he turned back to Tom, who was now halfway through setting up a mini tech station.
The bed looked more like a hacker's lair than a hotel setup. Tom had placed a laptop on the pillow, a tablet propped beside it, and three different smartphones laid out in a neat row. Beside them sat a small, flat, matte-black device, his MiFi unit, specifically modified with built-in anti-surveillance measures. Signal scramblers, untraceable network bouncing, and encryption layers stacked so deep most black-market hackers couldn't crack them.
Tom was typing fast, fingers flying across the laptop keys with mechanical rhythm.
Gregor raised an eyebrow. "We doing a recon op or ordering pizza?"
"Bit of both," Tom replied without looking up. "I'm rerouting my search grids through layered servers in Malaysia and Cairo. If anyone tries to trace our next move, they'll end up trying to interrogate a goat farmer."
Gregor blinked. "Huh."
Then Tom leaned back in the chair with a smirk.
"So…" he said, locking eyes with Gregor. "Aren't you the least bit curious what my backup plan was? You know, the one I had in place just in case our dear journalist decided to vanish like a coward?"
Gregor gave him a long, dry look.
"I assumed it involved either bribery, blackmail, or blood."
Tom laughed. "Why not all three?"