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Chapter 1: The One Who Wasn’t Caught

The rain hadn’t stopped in two days.

It washed the filth from the rooftops down into the alleys — but nothing could ever wash the filth from the city itself.

Inside an abandoned clocktower, perched above the west quarter, a small figure crouched beside a broken window. She wore a tattered grey cloak, too big for her small frame, and a pair of stolen boots that barely fit.

She watched the chaos unfold below like it was theater.

> Three boys.

One escape route.

Dozens of officers.

And the man in the long coat — not a cop — had already cut them off.

> Too early, she thought. He’s fast.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched.

---

Her crew had failed.

She had mapped every blind spot, every patrol shift, even the wiring behind the museum’s alarm grid.

But she hadn’t accounted for him.

The man with the long grey scarf who moved like shadow and spoke with quiet finality.

He cornered the boys in an alley.

They were just 13, 14 — desperate and sloppy. She knew them by numbers, not names. Names got people killed.

> “Who planned this?” the man asked.

Silence.

Then one of the boys cracked.

> “It wasn’t us, I swear! She—she made the whole map!”

The man tilted his head.

> “She?”

> “The Rat.”

The girl in the tower sighed.

> Coward.

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She slid down from the window silently, landing on her feet without a sound.

By the time the man looked up —

she was already gone.

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Later That Night – Underground Safehouse

She sat alone in the dark, candlelight flickering across a faded map.

No names.

Just places.

Weak points. Escape tunnels. Guard rotations.

And in the corner, sketched in charcoal:

> ❝ The man in the scarf. ❞

(Observation: Not police. Not local. Moves like a hunter.)

She didn’t need to ask who he was.

She needed to know what he wanted.

Because if he wasn’t with the police…

Then he had caught her boys for another reason.

And that meant one thing:

> Someone finally noticed me.

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She stared at the flame.

The flickering gold reminded her of her own reflection — eyes like fire, cursed and bright.

She hated those eyes.

And more than anything, she hated being seen.

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End of Chapter 1