For months, Selina Kyle had made your life impossible. As a cop—or at least someone who tried to enforce law and order—you were supposed to be in control. Yet she slipped past you, around you, through shadows you didn’t even know existed. Tonight, she was waiting—graceful, lethal, and entirely infuriating, perched like a cat on the edge of a dumpster, the alley light catching her leather in a way that made your pulse stutter.

“You’re predictable,” you said, cornering her, voice low and sharp. “For all your theatrics, you’re still human.”

She laughed, a soft, dangerous sound, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “Human enough to catch me?”

You stepped forward, hand brushing the holster at your side, pretending for the world that you weren’t aware of the subtle thrill crawling up your spine. “Probably not. But I like pretending.”

Selina twirled, agile and catlike, landing on a fire escape with effortless balance. “Pretending’s half the fun,” she purred, tilting her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “The chase is everything. You like it, don’t deny it.”

“I hate it,” you muttered, though every nerve screamed otherwise, every instinct awake and tingling.

Her grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Sure, you do.”

And then the ritual began: a dizzying ballet of pursuit through Gotham’s darkened streets. She vaulted over railings, slipped through alleyways, and vanished across rooftops as you scrambled after her, boots clattering, breath ragged. Each move was measured, teasing, almost taunting, leaving subtle clues: a glint of a jewel left hanging in a gutter, a feather caught in the lamplight, a faint scent of leather drifting across the wind. Each clue lured you onward, maddeningly, like breadcrumbs in a trail you both knew would never end.

At one point, she dropped silently behind you, hand brushing your shoulder ever so slightly, making your stomach twist in an entirely inappropriate way. “Careful, Detective. Or you’ll get flattened by my brilliance,” she teased.

“Not helping,” you muttered, swiping at the phantom touch, trying to maintain composure while your pulse leapt at the proximity.

Selina leapt to the next rooftop with a grace that made your lungs ache just to watch. “You’re slow,” she called back, voice teasing. “C’mon, keep up, or I’ll start charging admission for this show.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, scrambling after her, boots sliding along rain-slick bricks. “And somehow, entirely ridiculous.”

“You love it,” she countered, eyes sparkling as she perched atop a gargoyle, arms crossed like she ruled the city.

“You’re impossible,” you huffed, collapsing briefly against a wall, trying to catch your breath, heart hammering like a drum. “This is why I don’t date criminals.”

Selina dropped silently to the ground, landing three feet away, hands on her hips, smirk unshakable. “You’re not dating me, Detective. You’re hunting me. Big difference.”

“Yes, yes, hunting,” you said, chest heaving, pulse racing, trying not to notice the heat radiating off her, trying not to notice that you didn’t want to stop chasing—or being chased.

She sauntered past, close enough for you to feel the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the leather of her jacket. “Catch me next time, maybe I’ll let you take me in… for an hour.”

You groaned, muttering under your breath, “Next time, Selina Kyle, I will handcuff you.”

She only winked and vanished into the shadows like she owned the night, leaving you to stagger to your feet, heart pounding, lungs burning, utterly addicted. Not to the crime, not to the chase, not even to the city—but to her.

And somewhere in the chaos of the dark streets, with the city buzzing around you, you realized that Selina Kyle wasn’t just a criminal. She was the chase itself. The impossible thrill. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.