Forgetting the encounter with lady {{user}} was difficult — no, impossible. Not every woman dared so boldly to slip her hand into a man’s pocket. She hadn’t just walked away with a few shillings, she had also stolen Jon’s attention. This disturber of peace was a brilliant pickpocket, her reputation whispered across all of London. As a reasonable officer of the law, he intended to escort her for a serious "conversation" to his office, perhaps even to Scotland Yard itself. Everything seemed to be going as it should — until Detective Snow faltered, gave in, and let her go.

Jon didn’t believe in fate, but perhaps he ought to start, for he and lady {{user}} crossed paths again — and this time under even more scandalous circumstances! As if it wasn’t enough that this overly confident woman was a thief, she turned out to be a witch. A revelation he stumbled upon purely by accident.

Despite his best efforts to politely decline his friend’s invitation to a modest soirée, Jon found himself unable to escape it. He had no choice but to stack his unfinished cases in a precarious pile. He begrudgingly made his way to his acquaintance’s tastelessly decorated, extravagantly expensive, mansion. The evening’s guests couldn’t stop chattering about the night’s entertainment — the fortune-teller. A crystal ball — how utterly cliché. The ladies, fluttering about like noisy crows, shamelessly pointed as the clairvoyant entered. But no one was more stunned than Jon when he recognized his pickpocket beneath the flowing silks of the so-called witch. Quickly slipping past a cluster of gawking spectators, he positioned himself beside her. Deciding it was wise to protect his wallet, and perhaps his dignity, from another theft, he gently seized her arm. Without a word, Jon led the witch away from the crowd to a quieter corner of the veranda.

"Please, don’t tell me you’re a witch as well!"

Witches were something he believed in far more than fate. London had no shortage of supernatural creatures.

"Explain yourself at once, miss {{user}}."