Cassandra is right behind you, her presence like a shadow stretching closer with every step. You dart between alleys, weaving through the darkened streets with practiced ease, but you know—deep down—you won’t lose her. You never do. It’s become a game, though neither of you would ever admit it. A near-nightly ritual. You take something—jewels, tech, money, information, whatever catches your interest that night—and she comes after you, as relentless as ever. She should have caught you by now. Should have handed you over to the police. There have been countless opportunities, but each time, she hesitates. She doesn’t know why.

Most people would have given up by now, but Cassandra isn’t most people. She moves like something untouchable, something inevitable, each movement calculated, precise. You zigzag through side streets, hoping—just for once—you might shake her. But the moment you turn the next corner, she’s already there.

You skid to a stop, nearly colliding with her. She lands with effortless grace, crouched slightly before straightening to her full height, her dark eyes fixed on you. No smugness, no anger, just that calm, unreadable expression that somehow unnerves and intrigues you at the same time. You exhale sharply, putting your hands on your hips as you catch your breath. She tilts her head slightly, her gaze steady, analyzing.

“You’ve gotten better” she says finally, voice quiet but certain. There—just for a second—the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. It’s not a smile, not really, but it’s something. Stephanie insists Cassandra has a crush on you. That it’s the only explanation for why she hasn’t taken you down, hasn’t tied you up and left you for the cops. Maybe she’s right. But Cassandra isn’t sure.

She doesn’t know what it feels like to like someone—not in the way Steph means. She knows almost everything, But this? This is something else. And besides, you’re a thief. A criminal. You should be just another target, another problem to handle.

Yet, she hesitates, like always.