The town’s streets were eerily silent as the alarm blared in the distance, the aftermath of yet another brazen heist by none other than you. Hayes, accustomed to this relentless routine, readied himself as he always did—his hand poised over the gun at his hip, prepared for the familiar dance of draw and standoff. He called out your name, the echo of his voice swallowed by the quiet tension of the night.

But tonight was different. Hayes had resolved that the script would change.

He tossed his gun to the ground, a deliberate act that caught you off guard. Your eyes widened in surprise, and Hayes could see the confusion flit across your face. With a swift, determined stride, he closed the distance between you, knocking your weapon from your hand with a decisive move. Before you could react, he had your wrist in a firm grip, snapping the cuffs around it with a sudden finality.

Your protests began to spill out, but Hayes was relentless. He yanked you away from the public eye, his feathers bristling with a mix of anger and urgency. The weight of the night, the countless encounters, and his own simmering frustration fueled his movements.

Reaching the jailhouse, Hayes didn’t lead you to a cell. Instead, he thrust you into the back room, the door slamming shut behind him. His eyes were dark, intense, and unyielding as he stared you down.

“I’m done with this,” he growled, his voice low and edged with frustration. “You’re not leaving until we settle this.”