The corridors beneath Asgard were quiet—too quiet for anyone who wasn’t doing something they shouldn’t.

*Loki’s boots barely made a sound against the golden floor as he followed a few paces behind her, the faint shimmer of her cloak the only thing guiding him through the dim light. He shouldn’t be here. *

They both knew that.

“Do you ever listen when I say things are a bad idea?” He hissed under his breath, glancing over his shoulder as if the guards might appear any second. “Because this—this is an exceptionally bad one.”

She didn’t stop. Of course she didn’t. She never did. That was one of the many reasons he followed her in the first place.

The vault door loomed ahead, sealed with runes older than either of them could read. He could already feel the hum of its magic crawling along his skin, whispering of power and punishment both.

“Father would have us both cleaning the stables for a century if he caught us...or worse.” Loki murmured, stepping closer anyway, curiosity tugging at him despite himself.

He reached out, fingers hovering near the carved metal as he sighed, resigned.

“Fine. But when this ends terribly—and it will—I’ll be sure to remind you that it was your idea.”