Reckless {HS}

thirteen

Delilah's Pov

I sat on my bed, the faint glow of my laptop casting a blue tint across the darkened room. My head was pounding—whether from the events of the previous night or the hangover, I wasn't sure—but I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stop thinking about him. Those piercing green eyes, the voice that had been haunting me. And that note. H.

I needed answers.

The robbery at the bank had been etched into my memory for over a year, replaying in my mind at the most unexpected times. I'd seen his eyes that day, too—behind the bandana, hidden in the chaos. I didn't know who he was, but now I had a piece of him, something to chase. So, I started with the robbery.

I pulled up articles from a year ago, reading through every detail I could find. "Bank Robbery Leaves Authorities Stumped," read the first headline. They hadn't caught anyone, of course. They'd gotten away clean.

"No Arrests in Brazen Daylight Robbery," said another.

I scrolled further down the page, pulling up a string of articles that all seemed eerily similar: the same precision, the same audacity. It wasn't just the bank; there were heists across the city, all linked by the same thread of mystery and silence. No one ever saw the perpetrators' faces, but the MO was always the same. Quick. Clean. Untouchable.

I clicked through one article after another, the details blending together as the hours passed.

"Million-Dollar Art Heist Shocks the Metropolis"

"Jewelry Store Robbed in Under Two Minutes"

"High-Stakes Heist Crew Evades Authorities Again"

Each headline felt like a breadcrumb, leading me closer to something I didn't fully understand. There was a pattern. There had to be. These jobs were too perfect to be random, too connected. My heart raced as I searched deeper, finding more reports, more crimes that fit the bill. They stretched back years—at least five or six. It couldn't just be coincidence.

I grabbed a notebook from my desk drawer and started scribbling down dates, locations, anything that stood out. When I realized I needed more than just paper and pen, I reached for a map tucked away under my bed. Unfolding it, I pinned it to the wall above my desk, my fingers trembling as I circled the locations of each heist. The city was littered with them. Banks, art galleries, high-end stores—it didn't matter. They struck wherever they wanted, and every time, they disappeared without a trace.

But I started noticing something as I stepped back to study the map. The robberies weren't random—they followed a path, a curved line across the city, always moving east. Each one was just a little closer to the next. And if my hunch was right, the next hit wouldn't be far from where I was sitting.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the map, the red circles forming a distinct pattern, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading me to their next target. The adrenaline surged through me. I could almost feel it—like I was standing on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling. I knew where they were going next. I could be there. I could see him again.

I opened another tab, pulling up news articles from cities outside of ours, following the trail backward, expanding the web of heists across regions. It was bigger than I thought. The more I searched, the more cities popped up with unsolved crimes. It wasn't just one group of guys messing around; this was organized, methodical. The kind of thing you saw in movies.

They were untouchable, invisible. Except to me. I was starting to see the cracks.

I couldn't deny it anymore. My mind had been consumed by him—H. I could feel the pull, that magnetic force that had been tugging at me ever since the rooftop. Who was he? And why did I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life to uncover his secret?

I sat back, my head spinning, the weight of everything sinking in. If I was right—and God, I hoped I wasn't—then he was part of all this. And if he was, it meant he was dangerous. More dangerous than I could've imagined. But I couldn't walk away now. Not after I'd seen him again, not after everything.

I closed my laptop and stared at the map one last time, my eyes tracing the route. If I was going to find him, it had to be at the next hit. I didn't know what I'd do once I got there—whether I'd confront him or just watch from the shadows—but I had to be there.

"Who are you?" I whispered to the empty room, the only answer the soft hum of the city outside my window.

I knew one thing for sure: I wouldn't be able to rest until I saw those green eyes again. Until I knew the truth.