Chapter 232 | A Phenomenal Ass

I stood in Belle’s room at 10:47 PM dressed head-to-toe in black like some kind of budget ninja, which given the circumstances wasn’t that far off from reality.

Jordan slouched on Belle’s bed in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his grey eyes barely open. He’d been complaining non-stop for twenty minutes about how this was stupid, how we were all going to die horribly, and how he should have stayed in his room where it was safe and didn’t involve breaking into faculty offices.

"I hate this." Jordan’s voice was flat. "I hate all of you. I hate heists. I especially hate—"

"We understand." Belle stepped out of her bathroom wearing tactical black leggings and a fitted black tank top. "You hate existing. Revolutionary observation."

My higher brain functions shut down immediately.

Those leggings were a war crime. They clung to every curve like they’d been airbrushed on by some pervert with a bubble butt fixation and absolutely no restraint. The fabric molded to her ass in a way that should’ve violated several physical laws.

Belle noticed my stare. "Eyes up here, vampire."

"Why are you dressed like you’re starring in a heist porno?"

"Because I need speed and I need to look good doing it." She did a full spin, and I got a comprehensive demonstration of exactly how well those leggings performed their job. "You have a complaint?"

Multiple. All of them centered on how I was supposed to concentrate on not getting expelled or killed when Belle existed in those pants.

"Tactical gear is supposed to be loose," I said. "Dark. Practical."

"This is practical." Belle bent forward to adjust her shoe, and I immediately studied the ceiling like it contained state secrets. "See? Complete mobility."

Jordan made a pained noise. "Belle if you don’t stop tormenting him we’re going to be here until sunrise."

"I’m not tormenting anyone. I’m showing off proper flexibility."

"You’re showing off your ass."

"Obviously. It’s a phenomenal ass. Why wouldn’t I show it off?"

Naomi emerged from Belle’s closet in nearly identical leggings but cut slightly different, her pink and black hair braided tight against her skull. The leggings showcased her impossibly long legs and the curve of her hips in ways that made my newly upgraded C-rank strength feel completely meaningless.

I pointed at both of them. "Why."

"Why what?" Naomi adjusted her black tank top. The fabric hugged her torso and stopped just above her navel, exposing a strip of toned stomach that made my brain skip like a scratched disc.

"Why do you both look like you’re about to steal my ability to think straight?"

Belle’s grin widened. "We discussed wardrobe in the group chat last night. Decided matching would be cute."

"And the leggings specifically?"

"Freedom of movement." Naomi stretched her arms above her head in a slow, languid motion. The tank top crept higher, revealing more skin. "Stealth missions require maximum agility. Restrictive clothing creates noise and limits range of motion."

"You could wear cargo pants. They’re loose. Dark. Practical for—"

"Could." Belle walked past me with deliberate slowness, close enough that her shoulder grazed mine and I caught a hint of whatever perfume she’d chosen tonight. Something sweet with an edge. "But where’s the fun in that?"

Jordan made a noise like someone had stepped on his windpipe. "Can we please focus on the part where we’re committing a serious crime that could get us expelled or arrested?"

"We’re borrowing." Belle hopped up onto her desk and crossed one leg over the other, the motion drawing attention to the curve of her thigh. "Borrowing an item without explicit written permission from the current owner."

"That’s literally the legal definition of stealing."

"It’s called strategic resource acquisition."

"No it’s not."

"It is as of right now. I’m coining the term."

I turned to Naomi, who was checking her phone with an expression of perfect innocence. "You’re really okay with this? The breaking and entering part?"

She looked up and her pink eyes found mine without hesitation. "My dad’s boat engine died last week. Complete failure. He can’t fish without it and the repair shop wants eight thousand credits he doesn’t have. Twenty thousand fixes the engine, pays off his debts, and covers three months of expenses while he recovers his catch schedule."

Right. The guilt card. Weaponized family responsibility. Extremely fucking effective.

Belle pulled a makeup kit from her desk drawer and popped it open. She started applying thick black greasepaint under her eyes with practiced strokes, creating two perfect horizontal stripes that made her look like a model for tactical warfare magazines.

I stared. "Are you serious right now."

"What? It’s called commitment to the aesthetic." She added a second layer to darken the color.

"It’s called looking like a raccoon that raided someone’s costume closet."

"A

tactical

raccoon." Belle admired her handiwork in her phone camera, turning her face left and right. "See? Very professional. Very Ocean’s Eleven meets Mission Impossible."

"Ocean’s Eleven didn’t have raccoon makeup."

"Ocean’s Eleven didn’t have my detection abilities either." She capped the greasepaint. "Naomi you want some?"

"I’m good."

"Your loss. Jace?"

"Absolutely not."

"Suit yourself." Belle stood and stretched, her spine popping in three places. "Okay. Midnight Five assemble."

Jordan lifted his head. "Why are we the Midnight Five."

"Because Midnight Foxes sounds like we’re doing a gate clear. Midnight Five sounds like we’re doing crimes."

"I hate that you’re right about that."

Belle clapped her hands once. "Positions everyone. Jace, you’re carrying."

I blinked. "Carrying what."

"The crystal once we get it. You’re the strongest."

Fair. C-rank strength had perks beyond looking good shirtless.

Naomi handed me a black backpack. Empty but reinforced. Expensive. Probably cost more than my entire wardrobe before Aurora’s shopping spree.

"Where’d you get this?" I asked.

"Don’t worry about it."

That was not reassuring.

Belle pulled up a holographic map from her tablet, projecting it into the air above her desk. The restricted section glowed red at the northern edge of campus. Multiple layers of security wards pulsed in concentric circles around a central vault.

"Three guard patrols," Belle explained, pointing at dotted lines moving through the display. "They rotate every forty minutes. Shift change at eleven. Between 2300 and 2306, there’s a gap where the north entrance has zero coverage."

Jordan squinted at the map. "Six minutes."

"Six minutes to disable four wards, crack the vault, grab the crystal, and get out."

"That’s impossible."

"That’s why we have Jace’s Sanctum as backup."

I raised my hand. "Quick question. What happens if the wards are more complicated than you think?"

"They’re not."

"But what if they are."

Belle’s smile got sharp. "Then we improvise."