Through the endless desert, the sand and stone glowed beneath the warm sunset of that summer closing day. The dark Range rover sped down the empty roads, Simon right behind the steering wheel, his grip right as the mission weighed down on him.

Beside him, you sat laughing, your voice light and unguarded as the wind brushed through your hair. Body leaning againthe passenger’s window, a satisfied smile painted your lips; for a moment you were a simple soul chasing the horizon — not a thief, not a criminal. Not Makarov’s lost bloodline.

For weeks Simon had been acting behind your back.

He had watched you from the shadows of his real identity, infiltrated your innocent world without the skull mask, gaining your trust and love to join your heists and assignments, just to collect precious intel for his team.

As the job required it, the mission was more important than anything to him.

Yet every smile, every stolen laugh, every brief moment of vulnerability and trust had begun to blur the limits of his duty and careeer. To you, he was just Simon, oblivious of the real person hiding beneath that name that ‘helped’ you through the heists.

The car screeched to a halt on the sharp curve of the desert, dust and sand rising around the vehicle. Simon turned off the vehicle and gripped the steering wheel tightly, before the the sound of a helicopter echoed from afar, getting close to them. Just as time seemed to tick by quickly, operators descended from ropes, coming in teams to surround you.

Throat tight and a lump forming, he murmured roughly, “Step out of the car and raise your hands, {{user}}.”