The Grand Prize
A long-time thief steals his most ambitious trophy yet.
As the sun began to set, Tor dressed for the night’s work. Over the black fabric of his blouse, which was laced to the collar, the strings pulled tight and folded against his neck to keep them from catching on anything, he pulled his harness on, feeling the weight of the enchantment carved into each fortified leather panel settle on his shoulders. The leather was tightly fitted against the curve of each of his shoulders, fastened with a loop just above his elbow on each side. They supported the muscle underneath, helped prevent any strain after an unexpected fall or a sudden leap, and they felt as natural as anything to wear, after so many years fitting against his body.
The belt around his waist was made of the same dark brown leather, and once he’d buckled it into place, he played his fingers over each loop on it, over the small pouches that hung at each hip, his blades, his pick set, and the spyglass that rested at the small of his back.
His boots, the lightest pair he’d ever owned, were tightly laced, and as he did every night he was working, he leaned forward on his toes, ensuring he heard no creak in them, that he felt no unexpected give.
He heard none.
