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Dropping to his knees, Bjørn loosened the metal covering below the safe with practiced ease. Once he’d hooked the false alarm into the circuit, he glanced over his shoulder down the narrow hallway. There was no one in the immediate vicinity; a blessing given how loud of a fight the now-comatose guard had put up.

The alarm’s small screen blinked green once, then twice... and then steadied. System reset — The words inched haltingly across the screen from right to left, suggesting the device had seen better days. Then again, it’d been a while since he’d partaken in this particular illicit activity, and the moments leading up to clearance always felt drawn-out and stressful. He’d come a long way in two years, but he’d yet to figure out just how long he had between a guard dropping and the alarm being set off. Every building, he concluded, was different.

As long as no one got hurt, thieving remained within the realm of acceptable behaviour. The items Bjørn sought were not readily available in shops and were seldom found on auction. It was out of necessity that he broke into high-security facilities such as this one, helping himself only to the rare items he was after. Tonight’s list included antiques and oils, both prized items that were amongst the hardest to come by. Nevertheless, he knew his way around the city, and was not working alone.

Backpack hanging from one shoulder, the telepath exited the warehouse with his head down. With the latest fashion trend taking over Harper Rock, it was easy for the vampire to pass through these parts at this hour unnoticed. Still, he kept his head down until he’d cleared the block.

E, I’m coming back your way.

Sliding his other arm through the second strap, Bjørn hoisted the backpack firmly onto his back and walked the many blocks separating him from his destination. As he walked, his eyes closed, mind reaching into the ether. For a brief moment he saw what she saw, the powers introduced to him by the German wraith, Vadasz, still new and under-appreciated. I spy with my little eye, he chuckled at the absurdity of it, peering at the darkened street through long lashes, and relinquishing the image. The building he saw was not unfamiliar, but he struggled to place it in the grand model of the city he harboured in his mind. Only luck would guide him down the right road the first time, and the Lady was making herself scarce tonight.

After many false turns, Bjørn spotted the same building he’d seen in his mind’s eye, just a block away. Casting a wary glance towards the shadows as he approached, the telepath searched for his friend. Thankfully, she hadn’t taken to the shadows, merely squared herself away behind a column he lacked the ability to see through. Apparently there were some vampires who possessed Clark Kent’s ability to spy through concrete walls, but he wasn’t one of them. Honestly, it wasn’t an ability he craved. Flanking the column, he leaned his weight onto his shoulder and crossed his arms, the perfect picture of blasé cool guy if there was one.

“Hey there…” he greeted, glancing at their surroundings before returning his attention to Every. She was so short, he couldn’t keep his mouth from twisting ever so deviously. As long as it didn’t lure a bullet from her gun, he’d keep using the nickname he’d chosen for her months ago: “…Short-rib.”

The backpack squarely fitted over his shoulders was filled with a handful of things. The advantage of solitude and an addictive personality was that he’d spent months tinkering, and his newfound skills added value to many of the knickknacks he found throughout the city. Most of the items in his bag would be sold at a corner shop, but the others would be useful even if they weren’t the ritual ingredients he was after. Traps, gadgets, security cameras, and even some odd jobs around the home would put the other items to good use. Bjørn shrugged his shoulders at Every’s question. As far as loot was concerned, there was still room for improvement, but there was always tomorrow night, and the one after all.

Hooking his thumbs into the straps, worn cordura digging into cold flesh, the telepath shifted his weight and moved away from the concrete column. “Ran out of bombs,” he replied instead.

Though experience was on his side, there was always a risk when breaking and entering without backup gear. There was also no need to shoot guards and get into it with the cops (again) when there were plenty of things to shoot at in the streets instead.

The likelihood of him getting all the ingredients he needed for the ritual would depend on him finding other items needed for the smoke and knockout bombs that facilitated break-ins into the heavier guarded buildings. It required returning to the drawing board and shifting his focus, if only temporarily, onto another list. Acquiring inventory took time and patience, both of which Bjørn had in spades, and this ritual was not a matter of life or death... yet, anyway.

“You? Wanna move onto something else?”