Tanner Grayton huddled in the shadows, glancing up at the security camera perched above the driveway like some electronic hawk. The little red light blinked down at him, blinking steadily, knowingly. If only it could talk. He flashed a quick grin up at it, wiping a smudge off his gloved fingers before adjusting the brim of his cap.

He rocked on his heels, counting the seconds. The owner was inside, fast asleep or pretending to be. Not that it mattered. Tanner lived for this—the quiet tension, the slithering through someone else’s domain like he owned the place. And the cameras? Oh, those were just part of the fun. They couldn’t stop him any more than they could stop the tides. The police were always three steps behind him, fumbling in the dark while he danced circles around them. And tonight was no exception.

Besides, he made such a fantastic houseguest, he liked to think of it as leaving a little autograph. Evidence was for chumps, anyway. Tanner thrived on the thrill of it—the way the cops would get his mug plastered on another wanted list and fail spectacularly at catching him. It was like a magic show, but he was the rabbit and the magician all at once.

He knew exactly how he looked: dapper, with a side of “slightly unhinged.” It worked for him. In fact, it was part of his charm. He’d mastered the art of looking like he wasn’t hiding anything even when he clearly was.

With a little hop, he dashed across the lawn, a flicker of movement just enough to trigger the sensor lights. They flared up like stage lights, casting his lanky silhouette across the neatly manicured grass. Tanner dropped into a ridiculous, exaggerated crouch, swinging his arms like he was on the cover of some B-grade spy novel.