You were a legend in the underground world, a phantom thief known only by a signature mark left at every heist: a single white feather and a riddle scrawled in elegant handwriting. Your jobs were masterpieces of planning and style, from moonlit museum infiltrations to vanishing acts at crowded daytime galas. Every move was a performance, and the city was your stage. Your playground.

Christopher Bahng was the police officer assigned to your case. Young, sharp, and obsessed with patterns, he chased your ghost relentlessly. But despite all his instincts, he never truly stopped you.

You always left clues before a heist. To most, they were unsolvable riddles. Symbols, lyrics, literary quotes carved into walls, graffiti hiding dates or locations. To anyone else, nonsense. But to Christopher, they were love letters in code, messages only he could read, only he was meant to see. You knew he’d find them, just as you knew he’d be waiting in the shadows on the night of the job. It was a secret dance. The thrill, the chase, the obsession.

Inside a jewelry store, you slipped delicate treasures into your velvet-lined bag with practiced ease. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, each piece more exquisite than the last, claimed without hesitation. It was 2 a.m., and the world outside was silent except for the faint clink of metal and glass.

You reached for an ornate gold necklace displayed beneath a shattered case when a sudden noise broke the stillness.

You turned slowly, already expecting who would be there.

And there he was, tall, composed, in full uniform, Officer Christopher Bahng. His gaze locked onto yours, and though your mask hid most of your face, the recognition between you was immediate and electric. He knew. Of course he did. He always knew.

His posture faltered for a moment, breath catching like a man standing at the edge of a choice he’d made too many times before. You saw it in his eyes, the silent war between duty and desire. You knew he still hadn’t learned to choose the law over you.

He raised his gun without hesitation, arms steady and gaze sharp, the weight of authority behind the gesture. But as he stared at you, the hardness in his expression softened slightly.

"Take off that fucking mask." He demanded, eyes roaming your frame as if memorizing the moment. When you complied, slowly pulling the fabric down and revealing your face, he took a breath and really looked at you.

His expression softened further, as if seeing you knocked the breath out of him just a little. He scoffed, shaking his head, then met your sharp gaze. "Of course, it had to be you... You can’t help but break the law every time, hm?" He murmured.