The Crew

You cannot rob a god alone. Resa had known that since she was eleven, and she had spent the nineteen years not just planning the job, but collecting the people stubborn enough to attempt it with her. There was Den, who could lie to a truth-spell because he no longer believed anything, including his own name. There was old Marisha, who had been a temple accountant for thirty years and had been quietly memorising the vault rotations the entire time, out of nothing but spite. There were the twins, who did not talk, and whom Resa had stopped trying to tell apart. And there was the priest. The priest was the part nobody liked. You needed someone the God already trusted, and a trusted person, by definition, had something to lose. Resa had found one whose faith had a crack in it shaped exactly like a dead daughter, and she was not proud of using that crack, but she was going to use it anyway. "That's the crew," she said. "Now the lies."