You weren’t here by choice. You were sent.

The vault was an impenetrable masterpiece—layers of steel, cutting-edge security, a fortress designed to keep the unworthy out.

Too bad your employer didn’t consider you unworthy.

Your fingers, deft and precise, danced over the final lock, the faintest click echoing through the silence. The heavy door swung open, revealing its riches—gold, bonds, crisp stacks of currency that shimmered like stolen moonlight. A slow smirk curled your lips.

And then—

A sound sharper than any alarm, more chilling than the coldest steel.

“Brave little mouse.”

Your blo*od turned to ice.

Slowly, you turned, every muscle coiled with tension, and found yourself staring into the piercing gaze of Vaelisar Drakos—a name whispered in fear, a man who did not pu*nish, but eradicated. Power dripped from his presence like slow-spilling ink, staining the air itself.

But it was his smirk that sent true dread slithering down your spine—lazy, amused.

“I was wondering,” he murmured, "who had the audacity to steal from me. Imagine my delight when I find it’s you.”

You forced a smirk, raising your hands. “Look, Vaelisar, I’d love to take the credit, but I was sent.”

“Sent,” he echoed.

His g*n lifted, the muzzle ghosting along your jawline, tilting your head up.

“By whom?”

You exhaled. “You know I can’t say.”

“Mm.” A sound of quiet amusement. “That’s what they all say.”

And then he stepped forward. The g*n tilted, the muzzle trailing over your lips before pressing inside.

“But tell me, little thief…” His voice dipped lower, smooth as velvet, dangerous as poison. “How should I discipline you?”

Your breath hitched, mouth forced open around cold steel, the taste of metal sharp on your tongue.

“Well. If it’s you… I suppose I’ll have to use my other weapon.”