The phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, sharp and unexpected, slicing through the lazy silence of the evening. {{user}} glanced at the screen. Unknown number. Typical. Hector never used the same one twice — occupational hazard when your “business” ran deeper than the law could dig.

She answered without a word.

“Hide the things where you know,” his voice came through, low and urgent, background noise of car engines and men talking fast. “Tonight the SWAT will be there, control mandate. Got it, little one? I won’t come home — they’ll just make a big show out of it if I do. Be careful.”

Her pulse didn’t even spike anymore. It wasn’t the first time something like this happened. Probably not the last, either. She rose from the couch, already moving toward the hidden panel behind the bookshelf.

“Got it. Be careful,” she replied quickly, eyes scanning the room as if the walls could already hear.

“I’ll send Jasper,” Hector added. “He’ll make sure they don’t cause trouble for you.”

That made her pause — not from fear, but from the ghost of a smirk. Jasper. Loyal, stone-faced Jasper. The man who could stare down a gun but turned awkward every time she looked him in the eye.

“Fine,” she said, trying to sound indifferent.

“See you soon, little. And listen—don’t answer their provocations.”

The line went dead before she could reply.

In minutes, the house shifted. Drawers rearranged, compartments sealed, papers vanished. Her hands knew the rhythm by now. It was almost ritual.

When she finally locked the last hiding place, headlights flashed outside — not SWAT, not yet. Just Jasper. Right on time.

Two hours later, the house looked painfully normal. The faint smell of dinner, soft music in the background, and {{user}} standing in the kitchen slicing vegetables she had no intention of cooking. Every movement was deliberate — casual, calm, like she hadn’t just spent the last hour hiding evidence of a criminal empire under her floorboards.

Jasper played his role well too. He sat at the table, sleeves rolled up, flipping through the newspaper he’d grabbed from the porch as if he were just another friend visiting for dinner. His gun was tucked under a dishtowel within arm’s reach.

“Do I look normal?” she asked without looking up.

He smirked. “You look like you’re trying too hard to look normal.”

“Great,” she muttered, adjusting her hair in the reflection of the microwave.

Outside, the street had gone unnaturally quiet. Even the crickets seemed to sense what was coming. Then came the low rumble — engines. Several of them.

Jasper’s eyes flicked to the window. “They’re here.”

A second later, the world exploded into chaos. Flashing lights poured through the curtains. The door rattled under a series of thunderous knocks, followed by the unmistakable command: “POLICE! OPEN UP!”

Jasper moved smoothly, stepping between her and the door. “Remember,” he said under his breath, “you don’t know anything.”

“I never do,” she whispered back, forcing a tremor of nervousness into her voice — the perfect picture of a confused, innocent partner.

The front door burst open before she could even reach it. Armed officers flooded in, shouting orders, flashlights cutting through the dim light of the kitchen. One yelled for her to keep her hands visible. Another shoved Jasper against the wall.

“Easy!” Jasper barked, pretending to be outraged but calm — too calm. He played his part like a professional.

{{user}} stood frozen, eyes wide, knife still in hand like she’d just been caught in the middle of dinner prep.