It was supposed to be the final job. The last score that would set them up for life. No more heists, no more stress, no more hiding. They’d leave this stinking island behind—along with all the trauma—and start fresh. In a new country. A normal life. The one they should’ve had as young adults. One they’d never been given the chance to experience.

It was a criminal’s dream—the perfect mission. And that’s exactly why it was doomed to fail. It was too perfect.

Their years of experience should’ve warned them against overconfidence. The Ragnarson' summer estate was the fantasy target of many thieves—luxurious, full of valuables, practically calling to them. But one item stood out to her partner, despite how unremarkable it might’ve seemed at first glance—a simple pocket watch.

But seasoned thieves knew better.

A Tissot Bridgemoore Savonnette Mechanical, a Swiss-made timepiece custom-ordered for one of Norderia’s former Prime Ministers. A 45mm case, 10mm thick, water-resistant to 3 bar (rare for its era), with a 46-hour power reserve. A marvel of craftsmanship: a silver case engraved with delicate ornamental patterns, white steel dial with Roman numerals, slender black hands, and a decorative winding crown.

Her partner knew exactly what it was worth.

“You know how much that thing would fetch on the black market? Collectors would fight to the death for it. This is it, Shira—we pull this off, and we’re out for good!” he had said just hours before the job.

He was convinced this was the one.

But the intel that the watch had been moved to the estate? A setup.

The watch wasn’t there.

What was? Federal agents. Possibly even BUM. She hadn’t noticed—too busy surviving.

They escaped, but at a cost.

One agent managed to tear off her partner’s mask during the scuffle—his identity compromised. A guard was badly injured, hospitalized. She didn’t know—didn’t want to know—if he survived.

He’d decided not to drag her down with him. Didn’t want anyone connecting them. For once, he tried to do the right thing. So a few days after the heist, she woke up—and he was gone. Not in the apartment, not in the city. Maybe not even in the country. She didn’t know.

Because ever since that mission—almost two months ago—she hadn’t heard a word from him. That was the last job she’d ever taken. The one that ended her career. She’d been forced to try to live like a normal person. To lie low. Wait it out.

But now this bastard Callean was dragging everything back up—ripping secrets from the darkest corners of her past. Revealing things no one was ever supposed to find.

“I’ll make it simple,” Callean said at last, while she stared blankly at the table. “If you agree to our offer, your file will be wiped clean. And if you do well—I might even consider doing the same for your partner.”

She didn’t react—because she didn’t believe a damn word.

“That file will be burned. Along with everything we have on you, on your past. You’ll be... free. No more dark history, no more running. But—if you refuse, or agree and betray us, there will be two consequences. One: a twelve-year sentence. No bail. No early release. And you’ll owe full restitution to your victims.”

He pushed another paper toward her, but she barely looked—until he spoke again:

“The second consequence? Your old partner will feel it. Tell me—how do you think Estheim’s doing out there in the wild?”

Her head snapped up at the sound of that name, eyes falling to the page. In the photo, a young man looked back over his shoulder, pulling a hood over tousled brown hair. Kelly locked onto those eyes—green like spring grass. Eyes that had learned to watch for danger at every turn.

She slowly read the date. The camera had caught him just a week ago. If that was true… if the Bureau really knew where Estheim was… with the kind of evidence they had, he—

“So?” Callean asked, still waiting patiently. “Do you still have doubts, or was I clear enough?”

Without breaking eye contact, she laid the opened handcuffs on the table. Next to them—the small key she had stolen from the guard during their scuffle.

Callean smirked slightly.

“Good to know you’re still in shape.”

~ ••• ~

"You’re pure evil."

Zack closed the door adjacent to the interrogation room and raised an eyebrow at his partner. After finishing his talk with Thifer, he returned to the observation room, where the entire exchange had been watched live by his right hand.

"Am I really?"

A petite Asian woman with chin-length black hair turned toward him as he sat down at the computer, setting some documents aside.

"Oh yes. I think the devil’s already packing his bags in hell, clearing the throne for you," she said, tossing the last cashew into her mouth. She had eaten the whole pack while watching the verbal sparring between Callean and Thifer. "You went harder on her than on the rest of the bunch, don’t you think? Bit rude to tase a woman?"

Zack glanced at the files stacked next to his laptop. He slid Thifer’s signed agreement into one of them.

"They all had something to lose if they refused," he muttered, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks, but the stakes were too high—sleep was a luxury. "She, on paper, had nothing to lose. On paper."

He looked down at the photo of Thifer’s partner resting atop her folder.

His colleague followed his gaze.

"You really dug that deep?"

He shot her a look as if she had just insulted his pride.

"Okay, okay—I’m not questioning your skills. And I’m definitely not asking who you had to blackmail—or beat up—to get that intel," she mumbled.

"This operation’s too important, Megan," he said, as if that alone justified all his sins. "If they screw this up, we go down with them. We have to throw everything we’ve got at it to make sure they don’t."

"Funny, isn’t it? That our future depends on how well a bunch of criminals perform?" she said with a dry laugh.

"Hilarious, Meg. Absolutely hilarious," he replied with a weary sigh—because the conversation with Thifer was far from the hardest one he’d have to face.