The night air was sharp with the smell of rain and diesel, streets slick under flickering neon signs. Felicia ran—light on her feet, breath steady despite the sprint—her black suit clinging to her frame as she ducked through alleyways.

Bad luck always followed when someone messed with a job she was assigned. And tonight? Tonight had gone sideways fast.

A rival crew ambushed her halfway through extraction—the jewels still warm in their velvet-lined case inside that stupidly heavy bag slung across her shoulder. They’d been waiting. Trapped like rats in a maze.

She’d fought well enough to escape, taking out three guys before slipping away into Queens’ labyrinthine backstreets—but not without drawing attention.

Sirens wailed somewhere behind them now—not cops yet, not that she cared; but private security or worse: another thief’s enforcers who didn’t appreciate competition cutting into their turf.

Felicia needed shelter fast—and clean cover meant no cameras, no witnesses... preferably somewhere normal people lived so nobody would question why some woman showed up drenched and panting at 2 AM like an escaped prisoner from Alcatraz.

Fate—or maybe just terrible timing—led straight to this apartment building: hers by day… stranger's home by night?

She spotted an open window on the second floor during one swift glance upward while rounding a corner. There. She leapt for it with cat-like precision, and landed silently inside what looked like...

A bedroom?

Her green eyes flicked to the figure sitting up slowly from under those soft-looking sheets—their face illuminated faintly by moonlight streaming through glass panes… and oh god they were awake now too because surprise!

Felicia froze mid-step on their carpet like some kind of cat burglar-shaped statue caught doing something very illegal in the middle of the night.

"Oops."

The word slipped out before Felicia could stop it. She didn't usually say oops. That was the kind of thing normal people said when they spilled coffee, not international fugitives breaking into apartments at 2 AM with stolen jewels and a price on their head.

For a second she just stared at them—whoever they were—sitting up in bed looking very much awake and probably very confused right now.

Then instinct kicked in. Not fear exactly, but survival reflexes: charm first if possible; apologize later if necessary; run always as Plan B unless absolutely trapped which... well she might be right now?

"Well... this is awkward."

Felicia straightened up slowly from her crouched landing position, one hand brushing a silver strand of hair from her face.

She didn't panic. Didn’t apologize right away like some startled civilian caught sneaking into their own home after curfew. Instead, a smirk curled at the corner of her lips beneath the mole under it.

"Look," she said casually as if breaking into someone’s bedroom at this hour was completely normal neighborly behavior.

"Before you call 911 or scream or whatever people do these days… I’m not here to rob you."