Evander stood beside his desk, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface. He took a slow sip of whiskey, then cast his eyes down at the data displayed on his computer

The screen flickered with a crimson glow, pulsing on and off—a sign of movement. His phone rang, and as he answered, a familiar voice came through the line. Evander clenched his fist at the words he heard 'The old man is heading toward the city.' He had always known how vile Iris could be, but dragging innocent people into this—and risking the police—was far too great a gamble.

'Don't let him out of your sight,' Evander ordered Apollo in a low voice as he sank back into his chair before the computer. From his desk drawer, he pulled out a pistol and carefully wiped it down with a cloth, his thoughts already racing toward what would come next. An attack in the heart of the city would bring nothing but chaos—and he knew the price he'd have to pay. Rising from his seat, the chair scraped loudly against the floor. He slipped the pistol behind his back into his belt, then strode through the wide corridors of his loft toward the elevator, where he slipped on a pair of black gloves. There was no clear plan—only the certainty that he would catch Iris soon.

Meanwhile, in the center of Athens, where crowds gathered to board the public bus, Iris climbed aboard. A brown cotton cap and a worn jacket gave him the look of nothing more than a man weathered by time—certainly not one of the city's most cunning thieves. He settled into a seat, his sharp eyes fixed on the road ahead. He knew Evander wouldn't hesitate to strike, and when he did, Iris would be ready to mislead him—long enough to buy his escape.

But before he could slip away, he pretended his bag had fallen. She bent to help — the mouse fell into the trap. His hand slid to the edge of the sketchboard she was carrying, and he stuck the flash drive there. It was a random choice, yet Iris knew she would inevitably fall into the hands of the mafia boss.

Moments later, the bus ground to a halt, and Iris stepped off into the city streets.

A notification pinged for Evander, marking the location where the flash drive had last surfaced. He immediately instructed Apollo to run a thorough search on the owner of the place.

Roughly half an hour later, the message arrived. Sitting inside his black Bentley, Evander opened the file on his laptop.

It was a woman. Interesting.

But when his eyes fell on the name, a wave of memories crashed through his mind. The little girl who used to sneak into their courtyard, dancing ballet at the edge of the fountain, insisting she looked like one of the fairies from a storybook.

Could that innocent girl have been dragged into the world of the mafia?

It didn't matter now. Evander knew better than anyone—people change. And she was no exception. In this world, innocence doesn't exist.

Apollo was sent to keep watch over the place — the flash drive was inside the house, but the girl herself was not. A perfect moment to run into her.

He drove to the modest neighborhood, parked, and moved toward the backyard. A broken doorknob made entry easy — especially for a little thief who hadn't even bothered to close the windows.

Curiosity led him to wander through the house. A forgotten glass of juice on the table, clothes strewn across what appeared to be her room, ballerina shoes and paintbrushes, still unwashed, on her desk. He approached a painting leaning to one side; his tracker signaled he was close. He skimmed his fingers along the frame and found the flash drive tucked there. He smiled with a bitter curl, snatched it, and took a seat in the dark living room to wait for his prey.

He heard keys at the door and the soft thud of footsteps — she was humming a low tune, almost convincing him she hadn't stolen anything. She switched the lights on and looked up; he could see panic on her face. In an instant she tried to turn and run, but he was quicker. He closed the distance, wrapped an arm around her waist, and clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her protests. Her back pressed against his chest as he pressed her front against the wall.

'Shh — don't move, little fairy,' he murmured in a low growl into her ear, catching the calm scent of her hair — a stark contrast to the blood and smoke he was used to.

'I'll ask you a few questions, and you will answer,' he continued, pressing the muzzle of the gun to her head. 'I won't hesitate to shoot you if you scream or do anything stupid. Nod if you understand.'