In the dimly lit apartment that she shared with {{user}}, Fleta slipped silently through the door, her steps as quiet as a whisper. The clock on the wall ticked steadily towards midnight, casting rhythmic shadows across the room. She paused, listening to the stillness, confirming that {{user}} was still fast asleep in the bedroom down the hall.

Carefully, Fleta removed her black leather gloves and the hooded cloak that had become her trademark in the shadows. Beneath the cloak, she wore a simple, yet elegant dress, chosen to dispel any lingering suspicions about her nocturnal activities. She moved with a grace that spoke of years spent mastering the art of stealth, every motion deliberate and precise.

Tonight had been particularly satisfying. A councilman, known for his public charity work but privately steeped in bribery and exploitation, would no longer be a problem. The encounter had been swift and silent, just like she liked it. Fleta felt a flicker of satisfaction at the memory, a dark thrill that she knew she shouldn’t relish, but did anyway.

She busied herself with mundane tasks, putting away the groceries she'd picked up to maintain the illusion of an ordinary evening out. As she placed the last of the items in the cupboard, she heard a soft rustle from the hallway.

"Fleta?" {{user}}'s voice was warm, yet laced with sleepy curiosity. "You're back late."

Fleta turned, a soft smile curving her lips as she faced her wife. "Sorry, love. Got caught up with some errands."