They got back to Riften and headed straight for the hidden entrance to the Cistern through the graveyard. Once the false crypt pulled back and they headed down the stone steps and pulled the chain to re-cover them, Brynjolf approached the grate set into the ground. He knocked on it.

"Who is it?" a grave voice asked—it sounded like Thrynn.

"Brynjolf, Macayla, and Karliah."

Within seconds, the grate was unlocked and the three of them descended the wooden ladder. Thrynn and the Wood Elf, Niruin, were at the bottom of the ladder.

"What happened to you, Bryn? Get in a fight with a mammoth and lose?" Thrynn asked.

Brynjolf scoffed as he moved past them. "You know he would win," Macayla stated, causing them to chuckle but bringing a grin to his lips and swelling his chest with pride. She was confident in his battle prowess.

But Delvin and Vex approaching them snapped him to attention.

"Get the journal translated?" Vex asked.

"Yes, and we got a souvenir for you, Delvin," Macayla answered.

His eyebrows lifted. "Really? What pretty this time?"

The white-haired Nord waved dismissively. "Not now. What did it say?"

"Something troubling. It said Mercer was stealing out of the Vault for years," Brynjolf said.

"What?"

"That can't be. 'ow can you open a door that needs two keys?"

"It's impossible. Those locks are the best money can buy. There's no way."

Vex and Delvin ran over each other, denying that claim.

Brynjolf moved toward the Vault. "We're here to check, anyway." All five of them stopped at the imposing doors, sealed shut with meticulously interlocking bars and chains. "Delvin, try your key."

He walked up to it and inserted it. None of the locks or chains came undone, but he tried pushing open the doors for extra measure; they wouldn't budge.

He turned back to them. "No good; it's still tighter than a drum. Try yours."

Brynjolf headed to it. He inserted his key, and the locks, bars, and chains withdrew; he held his breath as he pushed open the vault doors—he desperately hoped Gallus had been wrong, but his twisting gut said it was pointless to hope.

"By the Eight..." It took just a few steps for him to realize that Gallus hadn't been wrong: every chest, every table covered with planned heists, every hanging map or painting was gone. There wasn't a single dropped septim left.

"It's all gone," he whispered in disbelief. "Everyone, get in here now!"

Everyone rushed in behind him and stared around with gaping mouths.

"Everythin' we've done to bring us back... gone," Delvin said.

Ringing metal echoed as Vex unsheathed her dagger. "I'll kill that son of a bitch!"

"Put it away, Vex," Brynjolf ordered. "We can't afford to lose our heads right now." She didn't.

Delvin backed him up. "Come on, Vex, Bryn's right: we gotta remain calm."

"Fine," she said as she sheathed it. "If you just came back to piss us off even more, you've done it. What are you going to do about it?"

"That's for us to figure out," Brynjolf said. "Continue to be on the lookout for Mercer. I highly doubt he'll return now, but you never know."

Vex and Delvin left the Vault, leaving behind Brynjolf, Macayla, and Karliah.

He turned to them. "We must figure out where Mercer's going. So, Macayla and I will be going to his home here, Riftweald Manor, to look; Karliah, you'll stay here out of sight. If Mercer saw you, he'll do anything to kill you, so you're the safest here."

Karliah looked like she wanted to argue, but then just curtly nodded and walked out. Macayla hadn't said anything since they entered the Vault and he looked over at her. She wasn't quietly withdrawn like at The Frozen Hearth but glaring at the floor—her hands were clenched, and he could practically see the anger radiating around her.

"I'm not letting someone else steal my purpose," she said in a hiss.

"There's no way he can."

***

Evening grew darker when Brynjolf led Macayla to the back of Riftweald Manor. Mercer's two-story home was almost one of the nicest buildings in Riften—it had been gifted to him when Maven Black-Briar kicked the previous owners out. An iron gate and stone fencing—too high to vault over—enclosed the back yard. A big, hulking man, armed to the teeth, patrolled the grounds; he didn't look too intelligent but would do anything to protect Mercer's home.

"That's Vald, Mercer's fiercely loyal bodyguard," Brynjolf explained. They hid in the shadows of a nearby house to scout the place. "Even though I've only been in there once, Vald knows my face; he'll know something's up if he sees me, so you're on your own in getting us in, lass."

Macayla had kept her eyes glued on Vald's patrolling back throughout his entire explanation. An idea brightened her eyes. "I've got an idea; wait here." She turned and hurried back the way they came.

"Lass... Lass!" he hissed at her retreating back. In the blink of an eye, she blended into the darkness.

***

Brynjolf waited for Macayla to return; she had told him to wait, so he did, but he got impatient watching Vald walk back and forth. Why couldn't she have told him what her plan was?

"I'm surprised you didn't try to follow me."

He jolted at Macayla's whisper. He turned around to give her his mind. "Why couldn't you— What in Oblivion?"

She wasn't dressed as usual for stealth; she wore a dress similar to those he had seen too many times in taverns like Haelga's Bunkhouse where the women were only there for entertainment. Thick straps held up the dress—but those usually slide off—a bodice cut low to display way too much chest to be considered decent, and slits cut high to the thigh, revealing pretty much the whole leg. The dress conformed perfectly to her form, highlighting each and every feminine curve, and she looked comfortable, like she wasn't ashamed of her near nakedness. Nothing really was left to the imagination. Macayla was dressed as a whore.

Macayla had not only changed clothes, but she also put off a different aura entirely. Her gently flowing brown waves were now harsh, wild, looking like she had just woken up. He didn't know how she could go from her sweet but mischievously twinkling dark blue eyes to the sultry, seductive gaze she looked at him with right now. She practically emitted sexual experience. She looked like a dangerous temptation.

This was Edvar's courtesan/assassin.

Preventing a visible reaction caused him unbelievable pain. He swallowed thickly. "Lass..." Brynjolf whispered in disbelief. He struggled to want to cover her up or keep looking.

She scoffed. "Oh, don't sound so shocked. And I didn't tell you because you wouldn't approve."

No, he wouldn't; he didn't want another man's eyes feasting on her body. It took everything he had to keep from reaching out to her. "What are you doing, though?"

"There's not one man alive that doesn't have the same weakness." She slid up to his ear with a seductive smile. "Women," she breathed. The heat from her breath nearly buckled his knees. She chuckled teasingly as she moved off. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Brynjolf took in a deep breath of the cool night air before he turned to see her slinking up to Riftweald Manor's gate. Vald was walking to the opposite side, so he didn't see her approach. Macayla propped an arm up on the gate and waited.

Vald turned and jolted with surprise at seeing someone at the gate, and immediately unsheathed his axe. But then he realized it was a scantily clad woman, and he blinked stupidly.

I know your feeling, Vald, Brynjolf thought.

"Is that how you greet a lady?" Macayla asked.

"This is... this is, uh, Mercer Frey's place and he doesn't want visitors." His voice was deep and slow, but the female distraction made it even a more struggle to speak coherently.

She tilted her head to the side. "He's not the one I stopped to see."

"He's... uh, he's not?"

She laughed. "Oh no. You see, it's been so long since I've had a good night; I stopped to watch you and I'm sure you can give it back to me. Definitely sure."

Vald had trouble breathing, as he understood Macayla's meaning. Brynjolf would be too at seeing such a beautiful woman offering herself to him. He would've been at her feet in a heartbeat; he didn't know how Vald still stood.

"I can't." He looked like he hated saying those words.

"Why not?" she pouted.

"I guard Mercer's place here; I can't leave."

"Is Mercer here?"

"No."

Brynjolf's lips twisted: good and bad news. Good that they wouldn't be running into him, but also bad because he was already gone to Nocturnal-knows-where. Hopefully, they could find some kind of hint of where he went inside.

"Then what's the problem? I know there's a room we can find in there; it doesn't even have to be a room." Her voice flowed like warm silk.

"There are other guards in there."

"Others? Well then, I hope you don't mind sharing," she purred.

He swallowed. "No, I... I don't mind."

Macayla slipped an arm through the gate to beckon him. "Then come on, let me in; Mercer doesn't have to know. Please?" she begged.

Brynjolf would've been knocked to his knees right there at her pleading. A battle raged within Vald about what to do.

"I won't tell anyone what happens tonight. I don't care what you say, though."

That final seduction won him over; Vald sheathed his axe and checked around him as he headed to the gate. He pulled out a key and unlocked the gate. It creaked as it opened, and he quickly ushered Macayla in.

"We'll go up to the second floor; the door you see is locked," he said as he re-shut the gate and began locking it.

Vald didn't get to relock it before Macayla had a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his cries as she slit his throat with a dagger. The large man bled out in seconds; his lifeless body sagged against Macayla, but she dragged him off to the side and hid his body behind a bush. She hurried to the gate to let Brynjolf in.

Brynjolf walked in further into the backyard to resist touching Macayla; just being close to her again was torture. The iron gate slightly clanged as she shut it and locked it. He approached the manor, observing the small second floor landing. On it was a raised ramp that, when lowered, provided access up to the door.

He felt Macayla move up to his elbow. "That's some contraption Mercer had built for an easy escape," he explained. He pulled out his dagger and held it at the tip. "I should be able to cut the rope holding up the ramp."

He threw his dagger like a throwing knife at the mechanism underneath the landing. Snapping rope sounded as the dagger struck something metal and dropped; the small ramp fell open to bang against the platform.

Brynjolf went to retrieve his dagger as Macayla headed up to check it out. He joined her up at the door, still fighting the urge to look at her. She tried the key she took from Vald's body, and it opened the door.

They slipped in and silently trekked through the house. They only found two other hired mercenaries and killed them, but found out the reason for the low security: absolutely no windows and every door leading to the outside was barred—they couldn't be picked. The house being poorly furnished was another surprising factor, other than a decent bedroom and some silver dinnerware. Nothing of value showed that Mercer had been stealing from the Guild's Vault.

"Where's sign of all the money he's taken?" Macayla asked as they searched another semi-empty room.

Brynjolf banged the drawer shut in frustration. He had no idea. This house appeared to belong to a middle-rank family, not to the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild. And no matter how hard they looked, they couldn't find a single sign of where Mercer went or what he planned to do.

He just had to think without his emotions getting to him. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Brynjolf was known to keep a clear head, but Macayla being close to him—dressed like a whore—fogged his mind and made it difficult not to think solely of her.

"You've known Mercer for a while, right?" Macayla began, and he nodded. "So, you know how he acts; how he thinks. Put yourself in his place; what would he do right now?"

He considered her suggestion and tried thinking like Mercer. Out loud, he ruminated on everything he knew about the man. "He's the cleverest man I have ever known; suspicious of everyone around him, and very cautious, almost to paranoia." Brynjolf opened his eyes as it dawned on him. "Which means he would have a secondary retreat—a place no one, but he knows about. And it's got to be close so he could access it all the time. Check for anything that seems fake or out of place," he ordered Macayla as he set off to search with new eyes.

They combed through the house a second time. But even with Brynjolf being familiar with Mercer Frey's habits, they weren't getting anywhere.

He had walked into the foyer, furnished only with a table and three storage cabinets. The door was barred, just like all the others. Brynjolf quickly swept through the two storage cabinets close by each other for any hidden switch or lever—even knocking on the back panel to see if hollow. Nothing.

He moved to the last one by the barred door with a sinking heart. He thought Mercer would have some sort of secret passageway. He opened the cabinet to find it almost empty: no shelves, only a pair of shoes at the bottom. Now awfully suspicious, he knocked on the back panel to find it hollow.

"Lass!"

It took only a moment for Macayla to find him.

"It's hollow," he said to answer her questioning look.

Brynjolf ran his hands along the edges and a finger ran across the rounded top of a button. He pressed it; a click sounded, and the false back panel pulled back, then slid into a hidden slot to reveal a vacant room with steps leading down to a door.

He stepped through to make sure there were no traps, then motioned Macayla to follow him. They didn't bother to shut the false cabinet as they headed down to the door. Brynjolf carefully opened it and they entered an old tunnel built with familiar stone.

"This looks like the Ratway," Macayla commented.

He nodded in agreement. They headed down the tunnel to come to a dead-end with two blocked off passages but one leading to their left toward better lighting.

The air was too quiet and stilted between them; it had never been awkward to talk with each other. But Brynjolf continued to try avoiding looking at her; Macayla seemed to have realized how big of a distraction she had become, for she stayed out of his line of sight, just behind him. He had to break the uncomfortable silence.

He cleared his throat. "Where did you get that dress?"

"I borrowed it from Sapphire."

"She's worn that?" He didn't like the image of Sapphire degrading herself in that dress to gain anything; he thought of her like a little sister.

He could picture Macayla nodding behind him. "To get closer to a mark; she said she wasn't required to... compromise herself though," she added in quickly, sensing his discomfort.

Hearing the addition settled him, but he still didn't like what Sapphire had felt she had to do for a heist.

They came to the end of the tunnel at a brightly lit and wide room; another doorway sat across from them, but hazardous pressure plates covered the entire floor. Brynjolf looked around for any visible markings on a safe way to pass—like Shadowmarks—but didn't see any.

"Is there any way to disable them?" Macayla asked.

Brynjolf shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"Well, there's got to be some way to get across without being burned; this is the only passageway open, even for Mercer."

She had a point. He moved closer to a pressure plate to observe it: around the holes were red and scorch marks. The one beside it was the same, but the third was clear, there wasn't a sign of fire hiding inside of it; he put a hand over it and didn't feel heat.

"This one's not hot." He took a chance and stepped out on it. Brynjolf wasn't consumed in a wall of flame and extreme pain; the plate just shifted underfoot. Another cool plate sat in front of him, and he took another hesitant step. Still, nothing happened. Now that he knew how to tell the safe ones apart from the real ones, he saw a path leading to the doorway.

"There's a path; come on, lass."

He heard her following behind as he left behind the trail for her to follow. They soon got past the pressure plate trap and continued on. They rounded a corner and stopped at a suspiciously clear hallway. There were thin slots lining either side, all opposite each other. After hesitating a moment, Brynjolf took a tentative step forward.

Immediately, sharp axes came swinging out of the slots. Macayla reached out to yank him back, but he had already started to jump back. The axes swung across the hallway like pendulums; a battering ram even joined in by swinging in the middle. For a second, they stood still to recover from the fright.

"I must've stepped on some trigger," Brynjolf said.

They stood studying the timing of each swing and laying out the best route to take. Just out of reach of the battering ram was a small hole one could duck into. He almost snagged her hand as she pulled it off his chest. "We have to run through that."

"Aye, I feared that was the case." He stepped to the right side of Macayla; he couldn't protect her on both sides from the swinging axes, but he could blunt the blow if they were struck by the battering ram. Macayla opened her mouth to object, but then closed it and faced forward.

They timed the swings of the two closest axes to get out of the way before running out, standing between the swing of two axes until the one in front moved, then ran to the hole before the battering ram hit them. It swung toward them, coming just mere inches in front of their faces, then withdrew. They memorized the swings of the second set of axes as it wound up for another swing. When it pulled back the second time, they shot out of the hole and slipped in between the axes.

Brynjolf and Macayla glanced back at the second death trap of Mercer's before continuing on. When they reached a closed door, they knew better than to not expect another trap. Almost hidden at the base of the door was a trap trigger; if not disarmed and the door was opened, some trap would kill whoever was at the door.

Brynjolf kneeled at it and set to picking it. When the taut piece of rope holding back the trap slackened, Brynjolf gestured to Macayla to get on the other side of the door—knowing Mercer he would set a back-up trap. Once she got out of the way, he pushed open the door; a spiked mace came flying through right at head level. They ducked under it and stepped into the room.

The small study only held a display case, a table with papers, books, a bowl, and a gray bust on it, and a semi-full bookshelf. There were small chests, but they wouldn't be able to hold the money, jewels, and items previously stored in the Vault. They wouldn't find everything Mercer stole in here; Brynjolf growled.

"We'll find it," Macayla said optimistically.

"If he hasn't already sold it all," he said as he approached the table. On it were letters directed at him, thanking him for vague shipments or guaranteeing payment. He tossed them aside to study the map stretched out before him as Macayla headed over to the display case, whispered something about 'Chillrend', then picked the lock to pull out a glass sword.

"So, who's this?" she asked as she admired the bust.

Brynjolf glanced over. "It's the Gray Fox. Mercer admired him for years."

She grabbed it. "Now Delvin will admire him."

He turned back to the map. It was an old, torn, and yellowing piece of parchment with writings all over it: some handwriting he recognized as Mercer's, the others he didn't know. The destination was confusing to name, but the writing of four words caught his attention.

"Shor's beard! He's going after the Eyes of the Falmer?" Brynjolf stepped back in disbelief.

Macayla looked at him with a blank look on her face. "What are those?"

"They're opaque crystals the size of a man's head. That was Gallus' pet project. If he gets his hands on them, he'll be set up for life and he'll be gone. He's taken everything the Guild has and to go after one of the greatest heists is an insult."

He looked down at the map, then rolled it up to take. "Karliah will help decipher the location."

In the bowl were many hard-cut jewels and jewelry, so he dumped it all into a pocket then gestured Macayla to lead as they left Mercer's study through another door.