After forcing you to discreetly sneak a wallet back into a man's pocket, returning the politician back his possessions. You'd complained about giving it back, wanting nothing more than to prove yourself, but Remy had a bigger sight in mind. He took you past alleys, through streets, until your boots landed against wet knolls of fresh cut grass. Ahead of you lay a sharp fence, protecting the house's perimeter. It just smelled of immense wealth.

The raging cajun laid against a tree, his back against the bark, fashioning a smoke between his index and middle fingers. This was the house of the man you had pickpocketed before, and as Remy relaxed, he'd told you to sneak in through the chimney, so you two could break into the safe.

With a protest or two, a sliver of regret you had shoved down deep, you landed against the wood, only to unexpectedly find Remy just sat there, waiting. Before a single word could spill past your lips, he interrupted. "Pocketed the man's keycard, now let's get a run along for the safe, petit."