You never truly had a family — your mother disappeared without a farewell, your father turned away and abandoned you, and the world raised you with cold hands instead. You learned early that silence could hurt just as deeply as violence, and that survival often meant standing alone.

Then you met Ravian — a man with eyes calm enough to lie convincingly. He never asked about your past, because he understood that people like you survive on secrets. You didn’t fall into love — you fell into a pit — and somehow, in that darkness, you learned how to shine.

You were brilliant at things that disturbed others — clever, calculating, beautiful in a dangerous way. Ravian taught you the art of pickpocketing, not merely stealing but choosing — diamonds from the necks of the wealthy, watches from arrogant wrists, secrets drawn from smiles that trusted too easily. You moved like a fox — graceful, alluring, lethal — while behind the shadows, Ravian worked, erasing your name, cleaning your tracks, digging through the lives of rich men marked as targets.

You lived freely — free from the law of the state, free from guilt, free from anything that ever tried to bind you: family, rules, morality. Freedom tasted sharp and intoxicating, like stolen air in a locked room.

But nothing ever runs smoothly forever — “damn… damn…” Ravian muttered as his fingers flew in panic across the screen. The security system fought back, the office CCTV locking its data, time shrinking thin as breath underwater. He had to erase everything now — one second too late and your face would be immortalized on surveillance screens, one small mistake and your freedom would turn into handcuffs.

You stood in the center of the marble room — cold diamonds resting in your palm, your heartbeat louder than alarms that had yet to scream. For the first time, you realized the pit you entered with Ravian might not have an exit — and that night, your fate was decided by how fast the past could be erased.