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The city never sleeps, and neither do I. Its pulse is my rhythm-the hum of engines, the flicker of neon lights, the shadows that stretch and twist in the alleys like they're hiding secrets of their own. I've hunted criminals in these streets for years, but tonight is different. Tonight, I'm not after just anyone.
I'm after her.
She's been my obsession for months now, always one step ahead, slipping through my fingers like a damn ghost. No one else can catch her. Hell, half the department doesn't even believe she's real. They think she's a myth-a whispered name in the underworld, someone too good to leave a trail.
But I know better. She's real, and she's dangerous.
And tonight, she's mine.
I crouch behind a stack of crates in the alley, every nerve on edge, my hand hovering near my gun. I know her patterns by heart now. She always shows up right before the real action begins, just as the city exhales, lulled by the illusion of peace.
I glance up at the museum's rooftop, the security system already breached. She's good. Too good. But not perfect. Not tonight.
A flicker of movement catches my eye. There she is, a shadow in black, moving like she's part of the night itself. The way she moves-it's fluid, graceful, like a cat stalking its prey. I've always admired that about her, even if I hate myself for it. She's a thief, a criminal, but damn if she doesn't make it look like a form of art
I wait, watching as she scales the fire escape. She doesn't know I'm here yet. Not this time.
The second floor, just as I predicted. The private collection-where the sapphire sits in a glass case, waiting for her to make her move. I tighten my grip on my gun, moving silently in the shadows behind her. I've imagined this moment a thousand times, catching her off guard, seeing the look of shock when she realizes I've finally won.
But when I step forward, leveling my gun at her back, all I feel is the rush of adrenaline.
"Game over, Blake," I say, my voice low, hard.
She freezes for a second, and I catch the faintest hitch in her breath. Then, slowly, she turns to face me. Her eyes-dark, intelligent, and far too calm-meet mine. And there it is. That smirk. The same infuriating smirk she's worn every time she's slipped away.
"Damien," she purrs, my name rolling off her tongue like we're friends, like this is some casual meeting. "I was starting to think you'd lost your touch."
"Hands up," I snap. "Now."
She tilts her head, studying me like I'm some puzzle she's trying to solve. "And miss out on this little reunion? That would be such a shame."
Before I can blink, she moves. Fast. Too fast. One second she's standing there, and the next, she's ducking under my arm, her hand striking out to knock my gun from my grip. The weapon clatters to the floor, and I curse under my breath.
Damn it, I should've seen that coming.
But I'm not unprepared. I grab her wrist, yanking her toward me. Our bodies collide, her chest pressed against mine, and for a second, I swear I can feel her heartbeat. Fast, just like mine.
"Nice try," I mutter through clenched teeth, my grip tightening around her wrist.
She doesn't pull away, doesn't flinch. Instead, she looks up at me, her face so close to mine I can feel her breath on my skin. There's something electric in the air between us, something dark and twisted. It's the same pull I've felt every time I've chased her, every time she's escaped.
Her lips curl into that damn smirk again, and for a second, I think she's going to mock me. But then, she surprises me. She laughs. Softly, almost under her breath.
"You're getting better at this," she whispers, her voice low, almost intimate.
Something tightens in my chest. Anger. Frustration. But beneath it, something else. Something I don't want to name.
"And you're running out of tricks," I growl, refusing to let her see just how much she's getting under my skin.
Her eyes flicker with something I can't read-something dangerous, something that makes my grip falter, just for a second.
And that's all she needs.
Before I know what's happening, she slips free, spinning out of my grasp with that same fluid grace, disappearing into the shadows. I reach for my gun, but it's too late. She's gone. Again.
I stand there, breathing hard, my pulse racing in my ears. I should be furious. I should be cursing her name, kicking myself for letting her slip away once more.
But all I can think about is the feel of her skin against mine. The way her eyes lingered on me, as if there was something more behind that smirk, something I couldn't quite touch.
