theft || DNF

1

George crouched in the shadowed nook beneath the grand staircase, gripping his revolver with knuckles white from tension. His breath came slow and deliberate, the cold metal of the gun steady in his hands. London's most infamous criminal watched as the guards stormed past him, too focused on the commotion below to notice the notorious thief hiding in plain sight.

The plan was simple: George would find the vault, loaded with valuables, while his partner, Sapnap, kept the guards and the company's owner busy. This was a cycle they'd perfected whenever their bank accounts dwindled, when the weight of rent and desperation pressed down on their shoulders. Other times, they pulled these stunts just for the rush of it—the danger, the thrill, the brief taste of power over the wealthy who never saw them coming.

But today was different. This heist was their most ambitious in months, and they weren't just stealing from any company. This time, the CEO was Dream, a man they'd both known intimately—once their best friend, now their target. The trio's childhood friendship had ended in flames after a bitter argument between Dream and Sapnap. It was a rare fallout for Dream, the once-golden boy of their group, whose cool-headed nature had always contrasted with the rebellious streaks of George and Sapnap. George, caught between his affection for Dream and loyalty to Sapnap, had sided with his partner, severing ties with the man he secretly adored.

George's heart pounded as he heard the muffled voice of a guard from the stairwell below.

"Quick! I heard clattering through the air vent on the ground floor!"

Sapnap's diversion was working. George silently thanked his friend for buying him time, knowing he had only minutes before the guards would realize the trap. Rising to his feet, he sprinted up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time. Each landing he passed felt like an eternity, and George scanned the polished plaques on the doors, searching frantically for one that bore Dream's name. When Sapnap hacked the building's security cameras earlier, he'd shown George which door belonged to Dream's office, but the memory of its exact location was foggy amid the adrenaline.

As he moved swiftly down the dimly lit corridor, the crunch of glass underfoot was a welcome sound—broken cameras, courtesy of Sapnap, had cleared George's path of prying electronic eyes. Relief washed over him when he finally found it: a sleek mahogany door with "Dream" etched in gold letters. The name alone sent a jolt through George's chest.

"Bingo," he muttered, gripping the handle with gloved hands and pushing the door open. No lock. Too easy.

He slipped inside, closing the door with a soft click. The office was pristine—a room of understated elegance that belied the ruthless mind of the man who occupied it. Light grey carpet stretched across the floor, spotless except for the fresh mud prints left by George's boots. The desk was meticulously organized, with only a sleek computer and a single pen adorning its surface. George wasted no time, yanking open drawers, scattering documents across the room as he searched for the vault key. Papers fluttered around him like falling leaves, and frustration mounted as each drawer revealed nothing but business files and stationery.

Just when he was about to lose hope, a voice broke the silence.

"Oh, George."

The sound was soft but unmistakable. George's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway. Dream, half hidden in the shadows, watched him with a look that was part amusement, part something darker. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a stark line across Dream's face. His jaw was sharper than George remembered, a light stubble dotting his chin. The pale light highlighted the heavy bags under his eyes—Dream looked like a man who hadn't slept in days.