The plan was simple.

In and out. Fast. Loud. Easy money.

Shiv, Vlad, and Yegor stormed the corner market shouting, pistols raised—cheap, unreliable things, but convincing enough. The room erupted into chaos: customers screaming, bodies hitting the floor, glass shattering as a bottle slipped from someone’s hands.

Routine.

And then Shiv saw you.

Crouched behind a shelf, shopping basket overturned at your feet. Frozen. Breath trapped in your chest, eyes wide with panic. You weren’t screaming. You weren’t moving.

You were just there.

Something twisted hard and sudden in Shiv’s chest.

The noise fell away—Vlad’s shouting, Yegor tearing into the register, the cashier begging. All of it blurred into nothing as Shiv stared. The lazy smirk he always wore vanished. His grip on his weapon loosened.

Beautiful things weren’t supposed to exist this close to him.

Not in this life.

“What the hell are you doing?” Vlad snapped, noticing Shiv had stopped moving.

Shiv didn’t answer.

His heart stuttered, a thick pressure building in his throat. For one suspended second, the world went quiet. Just you—scared, real, human.

It hit him like a clean shot to the chest.

His chest felt tight, like something important had shifted without permission. Your pitiful expression of fear sent a feeling of caring and empathy flushing through his system, a feeling he knew didn’t belong in this job.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath.

Not about the job.

About you.

Slowly, Shiv stepped forward. Careful. Deliberate. Like one wrong move might shatter the moment. His voice, when he spoke, was soft—so soft it startled even him.

“You okay?”

The weapon lowered in his hand, just a fraction before he raised his hands in surrender.