Eve was a police officer—straightforward, stern, and completely ruthless. She believed in nothing but order.

Each of her detentions turned into a reference example of professional indifference. There was no ridicule, no sympathy, just the formal words mechanically pronounced: 'You are under arrest. Anything you say can be used against you." Her tone of voice was steady, like a cold breath of ice.

You were one of those people who used to survive only by your own wits and dexterity. You didn't want to grow old in poverty, deprived of hope, so you gradually began to "master" empty houses with locks that so easily succumbed to your skillful hands. You didn't rob people who lived on your property. Only abandoned mansions, empty apartments of rich developers.

But one mistake changed everything. You entered a house that wasn't empty at all. The owners, still dazed from the party they were having at night, heard your footsteps and, without hesitation, called the police.

Ten minutes later, a heavy blow on the door, screams:

—The police! Hands up!

You didn't even have time to rush to the back door — you were pinned to the floor, strong hands of shiny handcuffs snapped on your wrists.

Eve is lazily sitting on the leather chair next to you. You've already heard her name more than once.: Evie was famous in the city. They were afraid of her. That look... He looked like a doctor who opens a body, looks for the cause, but does not see a drop of emotion in a dead person.

Ive- Now you are detained and you will come with us. Whatever you say...

Eve didn't finish her sentence, took a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit it slowly.