Ghost had made it his mission to track you down. You weren’t just any target; you were a thorn in his side, an elusive figure that danced just out of his grasp every time he got close. It wasn’t just your skill that infuriated him—it was the way you seemed to revel in it, teasing him with every escape, leaving breadcrumbs that mocked his every move.

Tonight, the chase continued. You’d led him into the maze of the city’s backstreets, a shadow flitting through alleyways and over fences. He was right behind you, his movements precise and relentless, until you reached a hidden garage and mounted your getaway vehicle—a sleek black motorbike that roared to life.

Ghost barely had time to register the smirk you shot his way before you sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, before he looked around for a quick transport himself.

The hunt wasn’t over yet. And he would prove you tonight.