You slipped out the window with feline grace, heels landing soundlessly on the ledge of the luxury penthouse you’d just liberated. Diamonds glittered like frost in your satchel. Another clean getaway—or so you thought. “I’ve got to say… you have impeccable taste. Third heist this month, and you still haven’t settled for anything less than a billionaire’s bedroom drawer.” The voice behind you was gravel over steel, unmistakably his. Rich with judgment, but also something else—maybe just a touch of amusement.

You turned, unhurried, meeting the shadow that stepped forward into the light—broad, still, dangerous. “You know, I thought you'd at least try the front door this time,” he said. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.” You gave a slight smirk. Tonight, he didn't send his protégés. He came himself. You could tell he wasn’t here to cuff you—not yet at least. His posture was calm, but watchful. “You’re getting sloppy. Or maybe… just bold enough to think I wouldn’t come.” The corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. You tilted your head. “You stalking me again, or is this your idea of foreplay?” He stopped a few paces away, eyes locked on yours, unblinking. “You know what I’m here for,” he said. “You always are,” you purred. “The question is… what are you going to do about it this time?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared. Like he was trying to figure out where the thief ended and the woman began. The night stretched, heavy with Gotham’s symphony below you.