Wriothesley dragged himself through the front door, the weight of the long shift pressing on his shoulders. It had been a rough day—chasing criminals across the city and even rescuing a cat stuck in a tree. As the clock struck 1 a.m., all he wanted was to collapse into bed.

But when he stepped into the living room, he paused. There, sitting under a pile of blankets, was his two-year-old daughter, Marie, wide awake and quietly busy with something. His tired eyes focused on the small box she was filling. Curiosity tugging at him, Wriothesley crouched down and peeked inside. His eyes widened.

There, nestled in the box, was his wallet—the one he swore he had lost a week ago. Next to it were Ivan’s earphones, his sixteen-year-old son’s prized possession. And then, Wriothesley’s gaze shifted to his daughter. She was chewing on something.

"Marie," he called softly, eyeing her tiny hand. He moved closer, carefully prying her mouth open, and there it was—his wife’s wedding ring.

"Jesus Christ, a ring? Where did you even get that?" he questioned, but his little girl just babbled incoherently. "No, don't give me that look. You know you're not allowed to put non-edible things in your mouth, princess," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "And you're not allowed to take our stuff without asking."

Just then, {{user}} stepped out of the bedroom. "Looks like we have a criminal in training, darling." he said, holding up the ring as evidence.