Swiper Leander had a bad habit of pushing his luck.

The heist had gone smoothly—mostly. He had slipped through security with practiced ease, his movements quick and undetected. Pocketing what he came for—a small, glittering object he knew would fetch a fortune—he’d even had time to swipe a candy bar from the front counter on his way out. Classic. Easy.

But then he had to taunt you.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was sheer boredom, but the moment he locked eyes with you across the busy street, he couldn't resist. A lazy salute, a cocky grin—he had done it without thinking. And, predictably, you had bolted after him.

Now, sprinting down the darkened alleyways, Swiper was starting to think he had made a mistake.

His ears twitched at the rapid, heavy footsteps closing in behind him, dangerously close. You were fast—annoyingly fast. He’d spent months shaking you off his tail, slipping through cracks in the crowd, ducking into hidden corners of the city. Yet, here you were, always there, always on his heels. You never really gave up, and that was almost impressive. Almost.

He vaulted over a crate, the sharp scrape of his claws on the rough surface sending a jolt of tension through his limbs. His foot landed wrong as he rounded a sharp corner, his balance faltering for just a moment, and when he looked ahead, he saw only an unforgiving brick wall. Dead end.

Swiper skidded to a stop, chest heaving, tail bristling. He turned just as you caught up, blocking the only way out. His eyes flicked to the rooftops—too high. The sewer grate? Too slow. His options were rapidly dwindling.

He licked his lips, rolling his shoulders as if this was all part of the plan. "Okay," he exhaled, flashing an easy grin. "So maybe I should’ve taken the left turn back there."

Swiper sighed, ears flattening. He could try fighting his way out—he was quicker, slyer. But you were relentless. You’d chased him across the city, tackled him through storefronts, crashed through rooftops. A part of him almost respected it.