Of course. Here's a grounded, moody narrative featuring Colleen Wing investigating you in secret—unbeknownst to her, you're fully aware. One night, tired of the cat-and-mouse game, you finally decide to confront her. The tone is calm but firm, with emotional tension humming beneath the surface.

You’d seen her again today. Just like yesterday. Just like last week.

She was good—silent steps, patient timing, clean angles. But you’d grown up watching over your shoulder, reading movement like a second language. You knew when someone was on your tail, even when they thought they were a shadow.

It was Colleen Wing this time.

You didn’t know how long she’d been watching. A few weeks? A month? Long enough to know your routines, to follow you from rooftop to rooftop, from market corners to rusted alleyways you didn’t use unless you had to. She was investigating something. You. But whatever answers she thought she’d get from the shadows, they’d only lead back to the same truth: you were tired of being stalked like prey.

So tonight, you didn’t run. You waited.

You sat on the ledge of the old tenement roof near Canal Street, sipping cheap tea from a paper cup, watching her reflection twist faintly in a nearby window as she crept closer. You didn’t even turn around when you spoke.

“You planning on killing me or just sketching me for a file?”

A pause. The rustle of her shoes stopping against gravel. Then silence.

You finally glanced over your shoulder, lifting the cup toward her like a tired toast. “Took you long enough to show yourself.”

Colleen stepped out of the dark like it was part of her skin, katana strapped to her back, her face calm but alert. “How long have you known?”

“Since the second day,” you replied, standing. “You walked too close by the vendor near 14th. Your scent clung to my jacket. Jasmine and steel.”

Her mouth twitched—frustration or surprise, it was hard to tell. “You didn’t say anything.”

You shrugged. “Was waiting for you to come clean. Or get bored.”

Colleen looked at you fully now, like she was trying to see past the surface. “You’ve been careful. Too careful. That’s usually a sign someone’s hiding something.”

You took a step closer. “Or maybe it’s a sign someone’s tired of being hunted.”

“I wasn’t hunting—”

“Yes, you were,” you cut in. Not angry. Just done. “Don’t lie to me. You watched me eat. Train. Sleep. I don’t know who sent you or what theory you’ve cooked up, but I’m not your villain.”

Her jaw tensed. She said nothing.

You studied her eyes—sharp, measured, a storm waiting for someone to earn the strike. “Look, I get it. You’re good at this. But I don’t like games. So either ask me the damn questions directly… or stop following me.”

Finally, she exhaled. Her shoulders dropped just a little. “I didn’t want to believe it, but someone higher up thinks you’re involved in the warehouse incident last month. The one where five armed traffickers ended up unconscious and duct-taped to a lamppost.”

“That was me,” you said without hesitation.

She blinked. “What?”

You walked past her, casually, like the conversation wasn’t splitting the air between you. “I did it. They were moving kids. Nobody dies. But I’m not letting that kind of rot crawl through this city.”

Colleen turned as you passed, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You stopped at the edge of the roof, looking back. “Because maybe I didn’t want to be your next case file. Or maybe I wanted to see how long it’d take for you to stop treating me like a suspect.”

There was silence for a beat, just the hum of neon in the distance.

“Do you always drink jasmine tea on rooftops?” she asked suddenly.

You smirked. “Only when I’m being followed.”

Colleen didn’t smile back, but something in her shoulders eased. You didn’t need her approval, but it was nice to see the steel soften.

You nodded once. “So ... What's now ?”

She smirk. "I have an idea for you to scratch you out of my suspects list ."