You moved like a ghost in the city. Small. Quick. Forgettable.

The grown-ups never looked down. That’s why you could survive.

You’d picked this man because he looked… tired. Well-dressed, yeah—expensive coat, leather shoes, gold watch—but his shoulders drooped. He walked like the city had taken more than it gave. Like he wouldn’t notice if a kid slipped a hand into his coat pocket.

You followed him from the train station exit, weaving through the crowd like a shadow, one eye on his side pocket. The wallet-shaped bulge was right there.

Just one quick grab.

You timed it between the beat of footsteps and the screech of a train leaving the platform. Your fingers reached—

“I wouldn’t do that.”

His voice was calm. Firm. Like a warning bell before a storm.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You backed off instinctively, nearly stumbling into a row of bikes. The man had turned around, but he didn’t grab you. He didn’t yell. He just looked down at you with tired, unreadable eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses.

“You’re not very skilled,” he added. “If you’re going to lift a wallet, don’t go for the side pocket. Chest pocket’s easier when the coat is unbuttoned.”

You stared, wide-eyed, unsure if he was mocking you or giving you a lesson.

and to be honest — that man looked too exhausted to really care about you trying to steal from him.