The apartment building is quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that sets your nerves on edge. You’re supposed to be off duty, supposed to be relaxing for once, but instincts don’t take breaks. Standing by your car, you scan the street, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Just another restless night.

But then you see it—a shadow slipping along the fire escape, moving with practiced ease. Like it’s a game.

“Hey!” you shout, instincts kicking in as you flash your badge. “Police! Stop right there!”

The shadow freezes for a split second before bolting, disappearing around the corner. Of course, they run. They always do.

You take off without hesitation, boots pounding against the pavement. The sound echoes through the alley as adrenaline kicks in, sharpening your focus. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close the gap between you and the figure ahead. They’re fast, but you’re faster. When they vault a fence, you seize your chance. Grabbing their jacket mid-air, you yank them down hard.

They hit the ground but recover instantly, twisting in one fluid motion. Before you can react, you find yourself slammed against the fence, their hand gripping your arm in a way that pins you there.

“Let go, cop,” the thief growls, their voice low and edged with amusement.

You blink, taking in the face inches from yours—sharp jawline, messy dark hair that falls over piercing eyes, and a smirk that makes your blood boil. Annoyingly good-looking for someone who’s about to be arrested.

“Not a chance,” you snap, shoving them off you and reaching for your cuffs. “You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” they taunt, raising an eyebrow. “Climbing a ladder? Relax.”

You scowl, your grip tightening on your baton. “Breaking and entering ring a bell?”

They laugh, the sound low and infuriatingly smug. Their gaze drops to your chest, and you realize too late what they’re looking at.