Zora sat cross-legged on the floor, her elbows resting on her knees, face scrunched in contemplation. Though she had already accepted the madness that was about to unfold, her insides still twisted in nervous knots.She's a thief but... Stealing from a museum? Really? Out of all the dumb things she and Kai had done… This one took the entire bakery, not just the cake.“I still think this is a horrible idea,” she muttered, not looking up.Beside her, Kai stretched lazily across the bed, his arms behind his head, grinning like a man who had just been handed the keys to chaos itself. “Oh, come on,” he said, reaching over to pat her back. “You’re gonna love it. Trust me, Zora. This is the kind of thing people write books about.”Zora turned to glare at him. “Yeah. Prison memoirs.”Kai only laughed harder, clearly unbothered. “We’ll be legends. The kind of story they whisper about over drinks in shady taverns.”“I’d rather be rich and unknown than famous and arrested,” she retorted.“Which

“Hey! Wait, damn it!” Kai’s voice rang out behind her as they burst through the emergency exit.But Zora wasn’t listening. She was already sprinting full speed into the night, the fragmented scroll clutched tightly in her gloved hand. No hesitation. No looking back. Just the thrill of a clean getaway pulsing in her veins.Kai cursed under his breath, taking off after her like a man whose soul had been stolen.They weaved through alleyways, blending into the dark, laughing guards fading behind them, sirens still echoing faintly in the distance. A few turns later, they reached the discreet donation spot they had marked earlier.Zora stopped, breathing fast but steady, and tore off the dark hoodie and gloves. Kai arrived seconds later, panting, dragging off his own black coat and mask.Without a word, they stuffed their stolen-gear disguise into the wide-mouthed donation bin, covering it with a few old clothes they had placed earlier as a distraction layer. Just like that, the thieves va

By the time the sun peeked through the dusty curtains, the room was still. Quiet. Dim.Kai stirred first, his limbs aching from sleeping in an awkward position on the edge of the bed. He blinked at the blinding light leaking in from the window, groaned, and sat up slowly. Zora was still curled on the floor, half-wrapped in a blanket, snoring softly with one foot twitching every now and then like she was fighting celestial gods in her dream.Kai rubbed his neck and muttered, “We’re not getting shit out of this map unless we grow wings or decode cosmic language.”His voice was hoarse, dry with sleep, but the decision was final. He picked up his phone, checked a few messages, and grunted. “Flight’s in four hours. I booked the tickets last night.” He didn’t wait for a response. He was already halfway to the bathroom. “I need a bath before I walk into an airport smelling like frustration.”Zora groaned and stretched like a lazy cat, dragging herself off the floor. Her hair was a mess, her

The city lights glowed faintly in the distance, bathing the streets in a muted golden hue as Kai and Zora stepped out of the cab that brought them It was past midnight, but a few food stalls and 24-hour joints buzzed with life—tired workers grabbing late meals, lovers tucked in corners, and night owls drifting through the quiet chaos.Zora didn’t wait for permission. The moment she spotted grilled meat and spicy noodles, she stormed toward the stall like a woman possessed. Kai trailed behind, shoving his hands into his pockets, expression unreadable as usual.Ten minutes later, they were seated at a small metal table tucked under a flickering lightbulb. Zora was devouring her food like a demoness fresh from war—no shame, no restraint. Slurping, tearing, chewing. She even growled at the waiter when he tried to take a plate that still had one dumpling left.Kai watched her, chopsticks in hand, barely touching his food.“You know,” he said casually, eyes narrowing, “you eat like you’re b

Zora fought like a savage shadow. Her breath was sharp and controlled, eyes narrowed as she ducked under a wild swing, her dagger flashing upwards in a quick arc meant to open throats. The man she faced was taller, broader, more experienced, but Zora had the kind of speed that couldn’t be taught—and a survival instinct carved out of years of crawling through death traps and double-crossed tombs. She pivoted, dropped to one knee, and swept his legs from beneath him with a swift kick. The moment he crashed down, she was already on him, jamming her blade downward toward his chest. He caught her wrist—barely. They struggled, a breathless tug-of-war between brute force and deadly precision. His free hand swung up to punch, but Zora twisted her weight sideways, using his own arm to flip herself onto his back. With a grunt, she jammed her elbow into his neck and brought her blade down—not to the chest, but straight into the soft space between his collarbone and shoulder. He froze.