Do spiders dream of better life? (Chrollo X Reader)

It had been five years since Y/N became a shadow among shadows-one of the Phantom Troupe. She wasn't part of the original weave, though Chrollo had extended the invitation when the threads were first spun. Back then, she declined. Loyalty didn't need a title.

They were friends once. Real ones. The kind that shared cigarettes under flickering streetlights and whispered secrets between gunshots. But grief had a way of rewriting people.

Now, she was back. Reforged. Colder. Sharper. A blade disguised as a woman.

Among the Troupe, she was the quiet one. Calculating. Distant. But not cruel. She understood them-perhaps too well. They had changed, yes, but the core of who they were still pulsed beneath the bloodstained surface.

Tonight's mission had been clean. Efficient. Brutal.

In the dim light of a park restroom, she stood alone, rinsing crimson from her blade. The porcelain sink was cracked, the mirror fogged with age and neglect. Her reflection stared back-expressionless, eyes like frost.

Then she felt it.

A gaze. Unspoken. Unseen.

She didn't turn immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch, like a taut wire between two predators.

"I thought you'd be gone by now," came a voice behind her-low, smooth, threaded with amusement and something else. Something unreadable.

She turned slowly, eyes meeting his.

Chrollo Lucilfer.

Of course.