Chapter Text
Before tonight, Al-Haitham enjoyed his life at work.
A cushy desk job, accompanied with an isolated, private room separated from the worker’s office cubicles outside. Other than his assigned post being an archival space lined with shelves of cardboard boxes, binder books, and case sleeves, the distance between the door and his station cramped with limited area for movement; Al-Haitham appreciated the seclusive atmosphere. It shielded him from human interaction, and nobody disturbed him during his breaks.
Earlier in the morning, a headset covered Al-Haitham’s hearing while he recorded a conversation he listened in. The archival room, despite not being designed to accommodate for office duties, was the most soundless area in the station building. Wire-taped conversations required minimal background sound to not confuse the transponder, and Al-Haitham had to transcribe the information played to his ear with sufficient accuracy. He swivelled on his chair to restock on blank paper, turning around and momentarily pause.
Standing behind him, arms crossed, was the General of the Sumerian Police and Mahamatra force. Since the headset muffled outside noise, Al-Haitham hadn’t heard the General enter. Nor did he care.
He didn’t bother acknowledging his presence, tidying empty papers before he continued writing. The conversation wasn’t of huge concern, the detective requesting Al-Haitham to listen in through a device planted at a suspect’s apartment building. A slow day at work, but it meant he had time to finish the rest of a chapter in the book he brought from home.
Or not. The General pulled his headset off and left it on the desk. Al-Haitham spun his chair so he was forced to see the General, his face impassive and mouth pursed in a thin line.
“General Cyno, what brings you to my office quarters.” He’s aware Cyno visited Al-Haitham because he wanted something. Unlike the police working in this building, Al-Haitham didn’t have to become a detective to figure out Cyno had a task for him.
The flashy, crimson card in his hand was an obvious giveaway. “The Chief Commissioner assigned you to decode this message.” Cyno propped the card on top of the stacked blank paper for Al-Haitham to inspect himself. He picked it up, studying the abstracted lettering. “She says it is a priority task, and to report to her once you finish.”
Besides transcribing the official accounts on behalf of the police force, Al-Haitham’s role as an information collector was an asset to document evaluations. As a Haravatat scholar, he graduated with the expertise to understand language conventions. It wasn’t uncommon for Al-Haitham to be entrusted with clues, reports, or letters pertaining to a secret behind its meaning.
He signalled Cyno to leave, leaning over to close the door behind him. At first glance, the card didn’t resemble anything special. Appearing as a business card in both size and paper material, Al-Haitham would’ve ignored the item if he were unobservant. With the most elegant, outrageous handwriting Al-Haitham had the displeasure to read, penned in golden ink and written with a theatrical flair; Al-Haitham decided it was easier to copy the original inscription into his own, legible writing.
Yet, a hidden meaning in the script was something that the average person would’ve missed. The same person who was unobservant at the contents, blazé and ignorant to the idea it was a secret and not an ordinary business card. But not him. Not Al-Haitham.
Whoever wrote the card meant to write it to someone who would understand what it meant. It wasn’t for the police, or somebody they threatened, or a farewell for a loved one. Every message includes an intention behind its words. Few examples of taunts, callings, hopes, goodbyes, just to name a few. It didn’t have to be specific or addressed for somebody, sometimes vague because the words are desperate to reach somebody.
Yet the author had nobody to address, nobody in mind, and no reason why. They didn’t know who would see it or that they wanted anybody to see it, but wanted somebody who knew their words. A secret only one person could unlock, but they didn’t know who.
So soon enough he finished drafting a mess of symbols, letters, and numbers sprawled across his page. Combined together were a variety of strange, rare ideographic languages, ancient runes, and the modern arbitrary language conventions. Al-Haitham only knew these specific linguistic codes through the books he had read at home; the languages weren’t taught in the Akademiya. One of the languages, in fact, was a book his grandmother (bless her) bought the hardback copy of when he was a child, its rarity made it near impossible to afford.
Nevertheless, he checked his work and left to meet his Chief Commissioner.
Located at the highest floor of the building, Al-Haitham went up through the elevator built down the hallway through the office cubicles. He didn’t wait long before the elevator stopped outside her executive office. Sectaries, officers, and inspectors milled around the hallways in a rush to complete their next tasks, contrasting Al-Haitham’s slow, steady pace towards the Chief Commissioner’s towering double doors. Knocking on the door twice, a curt gesture; a small voice alerted to his presence invited him inside.
Compared to Al-Haitham’s office (which, safe to say, was not the best comparison to make considering how tiny it was), the Chief Commander’s headquarters expanded as a dome. Bookshelves and benches built from karmapala wood surrounded the space, the room reminiscent of a library rather than an office. As he entered the grand area, he recognised Cyno’s purple jackal headpiece and long silver hair sitting on one of two chairs facing the Chief Commander. Sitting on the desk overlooking the room was their Chief Commissioner. Because of her small stature, she couldn’t sit on a chair, so she climbed on top of her table to greet her visitors.
“Grand Scribe,” She gestures to him to take a seat. “I apologise for this impromptu meeting.”
“There is no reason to apologise, Chief Kusanali. You had ordered my company once I had finished decoding this message. This is expected of my job.” He handed over the coded card and the message it said underneath, translated for her to read.
Her eyes brightened at the clue, now in her hands. Cyno shifted in his seat, close enough to Chief Kusanali to catch some of its interpreted wording. His back was straight, face still. As much as he tried to appear discreet, Al-Haitham could notice his fingers flex, itching to examine the card closer. Cyno couldn’t fool him, his intrigue curious of what the meaning was.
“Our first lead, and solved in such efficiency too,” Chief Kusanali muttered to herself, turning the card around. She spotted Cyno’s silent pondering, giving him the card to properly read. A quiet mutter of thanks was exchanged between them. “Benefitting as our Grand Scribe. Our investigators couldn't crack through it, yet you did it so easily, Al-Haitham.”
Her voice was soft, filled with awed delight. Al-Haitham indulged in the trickling pride swelling inside him, submerging himself in the praise. Leaning onto the backrest of his chair, legs folded and arms crossed, Al-Haitham curled a small upturn on his lips. On Al-Haitham, this was his own expression of a smirk. Beside him, Cyno scanned the card and glanced away to Chief Kusanali’s seat.
“Chief Kusanali. Now we have the lead, what plans do you have to capture this thief?”
Al-Haitham blinked once. Thief?
“We plan for what they said in this message.”
She indicated what the card said and Cyno nodded to her command. Al-Haitham couldn’t. He knew what was said on the card and they did too. But there was a difference between what was said and what was meant. They didn’t know what it meant.
There was no indication the card was meant for the police. Nothing on the card’s content suggested it was a threat to a particular institution or individual, otherwise there would’ve been a request on behalf of the second party. If it were a confession, somebody had to know who the thief already was if the language used was a shared, secret code. As a thief, the first priority was to prevent getting caught. To be known is dangerous.
Yet, printed with that ridiculous, borderline illegible scribble, penned with golden ink and written with dramatics, was the thief’s calling.
The Paradisaea
The Screaming Persian Portrait. Twenty-one hours, on the second day of this week.
Al-Haitham could sense the foreboding edging closer, accompanied with a headache. He didn’t like where this thought went. Not at all.
“Chief Kusanali. I have a question.”
“Of course.”
A strange apprehension tensed on his shoulders. It was a sensation he experienced enough to recognise, and not for good reasons. “Is there anything else you request of me, or shall I be excused now?”
Chief Kusanali’s face pinched, Al-Haitham watching her fiddle with her thumbs. It was another tendency that he recognised. Again. It was not for any good reason either. Cyno glanced over to Al-Haitham, deciding to rescue Chief Kusanali from Al-Haitham’s brooding.
“Al-Haitham, Chief Kusanali and I want you to investigate this case,” he said. Chief Kusanali lifted her head when she heard the General. “We both agreed that until a detective cracked the code, we wouldn’t offer the case to anybody.”
Al-Haitham raised a brow. “And why was that? Have you considered other avenues of forensic analysis to generate leads? The card, while an obvious clue, would not have been the only evidence found in a scene. We have intendants who specialise in a range of investigative strategies if you were to tell them first.”
“We couldn’t tell them,” Cyno replied. “It would’ve been a liability. Other than the thief’s calling card, it was the only evidence available at the scene. No fingerprints, DNA samples, security footage, witnesses, traps - anything. Whenever we had been reported to one, there had been no evidence of a crime besides the missing artefact and this” he lifted the card to emphasise “replacing the artefact.”
“And even so, we’ve theorised that somebody in our department is involved in the heists,” Chief Kusanali hummed, her voice small and soft. Despite this, it never wavered, remaining controlled. “So we couldn’t tell them what action we plan until we can prove they can unscramble the code.”
The thought that there was somebody corrupt in the police force wasn’t surprising news. No system was perfect and being in a position of power like a police officer, it wouldn’t be shocking to imagine constables being swayed, blackmailed, or bribed into organised crime. To be human is to be imperfect. The system is made from humans, operated by humans.
“Wouldn’t it be a greater problem for the police if this person involved with the thief had cracked the message, getting directly involved in the investigation?” Al-Haitham pointed out. Even though this method prevented potential suspects from knowing the information, it was just as greatly flawed to operate in its opposite.
Chief Kusanali smiled. “Oh, we planned for that.”
“Have you now? Take myself. What if I were to act to gain your trust?”
“Oh, the plan was Cyno.”
Cyno nodded. “The only people in this case are myself and Chief Kusanali for now. Although you work in information, and could collect and send information we do not know to this thief, I value you as a reliable man who wouldn’t involve himself into trouble.”
“Quite high admiration from the General himself.”
“And because I’ve seen you handle trouble.” A tinge of mirth sparked in Cyno’s eye. “You bring him home after a glass of wine at Lambak’s Tavern, and work with proficiency before he becomes difficult to handle. You don’t like creating problems. You diffuse them.”
Ah yes. “Him” being his roommate.
Kaveh.
The reason why Al-Haitham could identify the trepidation feeling. It occurs whenever Kaveh approaches him as he sat on his divan with a book, relaxing. Sometimes he would have an idea that was anything but great, regardless of how much Kaveh wanted to support his “brilliance”, Al-Haitham’s prepared to diffuse or shut down the stupidity before it could happen. Other times, it was because Kaveh said he was going out, and Al-Haitham would sigh, stay at home, and wait until a patrolling officer knocked on his door to collect him from the tavern an hour later.
Kaveh was also the reason why Al-Haitham can spot other people’s uneasiness. He usually didn’t care about somebody else’s discomfort unless it involved him somehow. Almost every time, Kaveh’s feeling included Al-Haitham to some capacity. Whether it was because of a new project or commission that wasn’t linear in process, Al-Haitham would enter with warm tea and a blanket, draping it over Kaveh.
If they weren’t arguing somehow, then Al-Haitham knew something happened, or he made a mistake somewhere. The crate of Lambak’s finest wines, or a coincidental topic that would appeal to Kaveh’s whimsical ideals just happened to be happenstance. He would reason that a grumpy, stressed roommate didn’t make pleasant company, although he didn’t know if that was the reason anymore. Or if it was in the first place.
Al-Haitham didn’t want to agree with the General that he was correct in his assumption. Kaveh caused enough trouble for him to handle, let alone organise sophisticated crimes in his spare time.
“So I’m a suitable candidate for the investigation,” he changed the topic away from Kaveh, not wanting to think about his roommate until he had to get home. Where his roommate was. “What role would I have in this?”
Cyno coughed into his fist, not-so subtly shifting his attention to Chief Kusanali. He wasn’t going to risk his patience with Al-Haitham for the second time. Chief Kusanali hummed, tapping her chin in thought. Pretended to anyway. Her smile was much too wide while she stared at Al-Haitham.
“We wanted to appoint you as the head investigator.”
He wasn’t going to finish that chapter in his book anytime soon, wasn’t he?
“Cyno has agreed to resource you with his division’s supplies,” she did her best to amend Al-Haitham’s growing displeasure at hearing more work. “I will provide you with clearance for wherever or whatever you need.”
It didn’t help, but Al-Haitham acknowledged the attempt. He couldn’t fault her for trying, especially since it’s apparent he’s the only person capable. Trust is difficult to earn when everybody could be a suspect, and that same trust is difficult to earn from people like the General of Sumeru’s police force. If he’s the only person Cyno would trust, then he doesn’t have much of a choice to deny them. Besides, if he had to blame somebody for involving him in this predicament, then it wouldn’t be Cyno or Chief Kusanali.
The thief was the cause of the problem. Al-Haitham would be the person to solve it.
He came to his decision, nodding to both of them. Chief Kusanali beamed, clapping her hands excited at his cooperation. Cyno didn’t appear as joyous, his uncovered eye narrowed to him. Being so easily agreeable wasn’t characteristic of Al-Haitham. He wasn’t famous for extending a helping hand whenever somebody needed it. Maybe Al-Haitham would’ve scoffed and defended himself if Cyno wasn’t correct in his assumption.
“However, I have a condition.”
Chief Kusanali stopped clapping and replaced her eagerness with a puzzled look. Cyno grinned after being proven right.
“Well of course. You would be doing a great service for helping us.”
On hearing Chief Kusanali’s permission, Al-Haitham told her his stipulation. With a hand out towards her, she took it, holding it with both of hers. They both shook on the deal. Cyno could only mutter to himself at hearing Al-Haitham’s demand, grumbling in disappointment.
Al-Haitham rolled his eyes. He should’ve expected this. Really, he should’ve.
“The plan,” Al-Haitham starts. His new investigative crew began to fill him in with what they already knew, and since then they had started their work.
-
“Mind telling me why you couldn’t wait to call me? Couldn’t you have waited until you got home to tell me something?” The displeasure was obvious from beyond the phone line, and if Al-Haitham didn’t know he was born with grey hair, then his next assumption would’ve been his roommate was the reason why he had any at all.
“Because, Kaveh,” he said slowly, imagining himself talking to a child. Well, he wouldn’t be far off with the idea. “I wouldn’t be there to tell you tonight. I will be away and won’t arrive home until late.”
There was a moment of silence. Then: “You must think I’m stupid-”
“At least you can admit it, senior. Congratulations on your self-awareness.”
A lot of spluttering and indignation later, followed with some curses directed at Al-Haitham, Kaveh continued talking. “My apologies for thinking you suddenly had a social life outside of work after knowing you for so long. I didn’t want to delude myself into thinking I was talking to someone else.”
“Don’t worry Kaveh,” Al-Haitham grinned, “You already delude yourself enough with other things. Rest assured, you are talking to me.”
Afterwards, Al-Haitham had to listen (note: ignore) to more lecturing, yelling, and offence. Honestly, Al-Haitham took pleasure in provoking Kaveh. He was a lion who shouldn’t be poked with a stick whatsoever, but Al-Haitham found entertainment from it. Pushing Kaveh’s buttons meant that, at some point, he would finally find the off button in his brain somewhere.
During their bickering Kaveh had forgotten why Al-Haitham called in the first place. Until a client he was in a meeting with had left the briefing room to find Kaveh outside, asking if everything was alright after not returning inside for over 20 minutes over a “simple call”, and returning waiting for Kaveh, it dawned on Kaveh that he hadn’t found a satisfactory answer from Al-Haitham.
“Alright you bastard, listen up,” Kaveh growled, and Al-Haitham could picture the shaking, clenched fist that was, without a doubt, directed to him. “I know you heard that conversation with my client, so stop wasting my time and tell me why you won’t be home tonight to tell me. The truth.”
“Kaveh, I have been. It’s not my fault that you don’t believe me. Consider yourself to be properly notified now. Goodbye.”
“Al-Haitham, you better not hang up-”
So since that was settled, Al-Haitham returned inside Chief Kusanali (“Al-Haitham, please. Just call me Nahida. We’d be meeting each other more often about this case, so you shouldn’t have to refer to me so formally when we’d both be equals”) sorry, Chief Nahida’s office. Cyno and Chief Nahida were waiting, a set of cards spread out between them. He wasn’t shocked to learn it was Cyno who roped the Chief into playing a match of Genius Invocation TCG.
“Ah, Al-Haitham, just in time,” Cyno said, with a tone that meant he had something to say. Not the kind that Al-Haitham, and respectively, anybody else, wants to hear. “You were gone for so long I thought Kaveh might’ve been drunk-calling you again, telling you to pick him up at the Kavern.”
Al-Haitham blinked once. The second time was to restrain himself from punching the General. “Get it? Because he’s always at the tavern and if you replace the T in tavern with the K in Kaveh, you can still get half the letters-”
“I get it, Cyno.”
Cyno narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything afterwards. He resolved to stay quiet.
“Cyno, I think that’s a very good joke. I like the implementation of his name in the word, combining the two together. It’s quite smart.”
He had to remind himself that it would be quite disastrous to harm his boss, who is one of the most powerful people in Sumeru. Instead he pretended not to notice the gleam in Cyno’s expression, finally being complimented for his horrid humour. Sitting down on the same seat from earlier, Al-Haitham busied himself with reviewing the plan for the mission.
The mission was tonight. Cyno had found the message during a previous robbery, it being the only way the events connected to the same thief. Through the calling card intentionally left behind, Cyno and Chief Nahida were quick to collect the previous calling cards, hopeful to find a detective in their force who could decode it all.
Al-Haitham spent the remaining of his work hours decoding every card left behind by this thief. Even after they both tell him how each card was found and the cases, Al-Haitham found only one link to the thefts.
The thief stole stolen artefacts.
It’s a bit of a paradoxical statement. These private collectors, governmental institutions, and even the Akademiya’s museums weren’t honest. Many of these objects were stolen by families kept for generations before it was stolen one day and seen behind glass cases. Nobody believed them when they found them again, demanding for it back. Not when the criminals owned these establishments.
So the thief would be contacted by the victimised families and they would steal it back for them. A vigilante who acted on their own to see justice for everyone else.
This was a problem for the police. Not only was this extremely dangerous, but it didn’t serve the justice they expected. By committing the crime, it doesn’t explicitly frame the high-level institutions. The sentencing wouldn’t be as serious as it would’ve been if somebody else wasn’t involved. While they face punishment, the growing anxieties among powerful people will force the courts to enforce a greater consequence. One that outweighs the original culprits.
Maybe justice isn’t handed to a judge and jury. To the thief, maybe it was to heal the grievances caused to the families. To Al-Haitham, this was an idealistic ideology. The thief should know they will be caught, and the justice wouldn’t be the selflessness they employed. So Al-Haitham, the embodiment of a justice they don’t agree with, will have a greater, more difficult experience apprehending the criminal.
And the problems didn’t end there. According to Cyno and Chief Nahida, this thief was a Phantom Thief. A person without a known appearance, name, or even gender. Nobody had seen them, and they ensured they stayed hidden. Not if Al-Haitham had anything to say about it. There had been no unknown concept that escaped Al-Haitham before. He always knew something. An unknown variable in research is eventually explained from gathering the resources and information. The nothing eventually becomes something once Al-Haitham pursues the mystery, and this Phantom Thief will be known.
Al-Haitham will know. Tonight.
Just as the calling card said.
-
Silence was a welcoming presence to Al-Haitham, so it didn’t scare him compared to others. His torch shined its warm glow onto anything he directed its beam towards, his radio quietly buzzing for any breaking news clipped on his shirt. With his pistol aimed, the safety off and ready for trigger, he felt rather comfortable.
He told the few officers he brought to the site to be stationed where he marked on the map, only allowing himself to enter the building. During the briefing with Cyno and Chief Nahida, they both acknowledged that this thief was smart. If they caught suspicion on Al-Haitham travelling with a group of officers, it would scare them away instead of enticing them to still commit the crime. Evidence on actively committing the crime held more conviction in court.
He had to account for all the possibilities, all the tricks and all the consequences, because he knew tonight his first encounter with the thief will be his first and last. Al-Haitham would be the one who will know who the thief is, and why they did what they did. They wouldn’t be a phantom thief, but the person who is rightfully caught for being a vigilante.
Although he knew this thief wasn’t completely in the wrong either. He had to banish that thought aside. If he thought about it any longer, it would compromise his mission.
Al-Haitham didn’t operate in anything but rationality.
Through the halls and passing the exhibits, Al-Haitham kept an eye out for not only another human figure in the room, but for the alleged “Screaming Persian Portrait”. He contacted the building’s owner, a collector, a few hours before this heist. Giving the bare minimum about his findings, and a reference from Chief Nahida, the collector complied and gave the police entry to the gallery for tonight.
The collector had told him the artwork should still be on display, stored in a particular room made to showcase other paintings. Al-Haitham held his tongue over the impractical use of room availability by solely dedicating it to artworks that serve no functionality, and instead told the collector to keep everything inconspicuous before the planned heist. He’ll deal with interrogating the collector about the origins of the painting, but that’s for after he arrests this ridiculous burglar.
After passing some questionable art, abstract and non-sensical to his lacking appreciation of the aesthetics, he believed he entered the room with the specific artwork in mind. It had to be. Based on the collector’s description for the room, there should be paintings everywhere, and Al-Haitham only eyes canvas boards decorated with a myriad of colours, shapes, and symbols. He lowered his gun to the ground once he surveyed the area, noting nobody inside. At least, yet.
Or so he thought.
Behind him, the double door entry left open for Al-Haitham to roam the gallery freely closed from behind, and a snap echoed through the ceramic walls. The lock, his mind supplies, was fastened. Without the collector or his officers with the available key, left behind and stationed in their positions, he was trapped. Trapped with the person he was searching for.
“Finally. I was wondering when one of you will show up eventually. It’s been a bit boring without an audience, you know,” a voice carried across the room, disembodying and never originating from one place. It echoed everywhere and the only thing Al-Haitham could do was raise his gun and radio. They were here.
A boisterous laughter ran through. The chuckle sounded albeit pathetic, reminding him of his roommate whenever Al-Haitham said something sarcastic. Which was all the time.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?” Al-Haitham countered, voice steady. The thief tried to unsettle his manner, yet it was unsuccessful. It would work on others, but not him. Not Al-Haitham. “What is stopping me from shooting you?”
A beat of silence. Al-Haitham didn’t appreciate the atmospheric feeling of the silence this time, not when he knew someone else was in the room. Clicking heels resonated through the floorboards, Al-Haitham taking tentative steps with his flat soles. He didn’t want to confuse his mind with his own steps against another’s.
It was just the tapping of their shoes, neither one knowing whether they were being cornered, or if they were the person cornering. Al-Haitham couldn’t see if anybody was in the room, but the thief knew he was inside. Not even his torch could illuminate where this figure was, the light shining everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
His fingers inched over the radio. To alert the General’s most trusted on duty right now. Prepare to survey the area. Calling his backup while the thief could be literally in front of him could compromise where he was in the room. Yet the moment he moved to turn it on and try saying something, the sounds would move closer. Enticing him. Daring him.
More steps. More moves. Until; “Look behind you.”
Al-Haitham didn’t spare another second to turn around. To spin on his heel and face the phantom thief. Returning to his tiny archival room, resuming his interrupted work. Basking in the peace and quiet again, only having to worry about when the day would end and he could go back finishing that chapter in his book. He didn’t wait-
And then he hesitated.
With his flashlight, Al-Haitham noticed a flicker; whether from his exhausting battery or the stutter in his chest. The first thing his eyes laid on wasn’t the egregious amount of white donned on this person, the coattail vest that cinchined their hips. Nor was it the subtle red and blue accessories speckled on them, where it was perfectly spaced out across their broad shoulders and biceps, and if it were to catch on a light source, the colours would bounce and spin and whirl. Al-Haitham didn’t even notice the white mask hiding the top half of their face, covering it so they could remain undetected. No. It was none of those things. Not until a second glance.
Because the first thing Al-Haitham stopped for was their eyes. He couldn’t think of the proper shade of red; whether scarlet, crimson, ruby, or any other shade. Kaveh would know, he thought, except Kaveh wasn’t here right now staring at this person. For a Haravarat scholar, trained in linguistics, Al-Haitham couldn’t think of a word to describe their bold, widened, red in colour eyes. One of the only people in the police department who solved a puzzle only because of his breadth of knowledge, and he couldn’t do anything else but stare. Everything stopped and so did his thoughts because he whispered;
“Beautiful.”
At that moment, Al-Haitham felt the challenge. The real reason why nobody saw them.
Because if they did, they wouldn’t forget their charm. Wouldn’t dare to.
“What did you say?” The stranger asked, close but not too close. From a distance, but not too far.
Al-Haitham stopped again, but not because the person’s attractive. It was for other reasons. Mainly his job, entire career, and probably making it home before his roommate could call him, the police, to search for a missing man. Kaveh was already a pain, and Al-Haitham didn’t want to deal with his impatience for not returning home.
“You’re under arrest,” he says instead, because repeating his words again is stupid and Al-Haitham isn’t stupid. “Under Sumeruan law, you have the right to remain silent, lest anything you say will be used against you in Court-”
The thief backed away from Al-Haitham, waving their arms around as if it would stop Al-Haitham reaching for the handcuffs clasped on his belt. “Woah there. We only just met, and you want to arrest me?”
“Yes?” What a stupid question. What did they expect from tonight? He didn’t want to entertain the thought of this meeting being anything but that; a meeting. “It’s my job to arrest criminals. And you are being charged for trespassing, stealing-” being good-looking, unfairly pretty, too gorgeous to be a thief-
“Now hey, I thought we would have maybe a little more time before you could arrest me.”
Perhaps it was from the intonation they used, but Al-Haitham thought their voice was a little deeper, more suave then. Al-Haitham had planned for tonight to be a successful arrest, manoeuvring traps and schemes to keep the thief in place. He was a threat to the thief after all. The person who decoded their message and belonged to the other side of their whims.
But at the same time, why did it feel Al-Haitham was the one who fell into a trap?
Now it was Al-Haitham who took a step back from the other person, thinking distance would separate him from the ideas in his head. Whether because the thief had done something to threaten him by using their allure, or because he couldn’t recognise the reason why he felt everything changed all the sudden, he’s for once in his life, unsure. Al-Haitham, the man who did everything he could to stay in control, was now left with an unknown.
“Detective Al-Haitham,” the low vocal pitch sent chills through him and he didn’t know why. Why was he so affected by their presence? And why did his name sound kinda nice- no, no, it’s a purposeful flirty intonation. Nothing more. Never more. “Enlighten me. You are the first detective who managed to find me. So I ask; you found me, the Emphream Thief. Do you have the capability to win and arrest me?”
“Yes,” he answered automatically. He should say yes. Al-Haitham knows he should, and he wants to hold onto what he knows.
Another step back, except this time the thief, the Emphream Thief, took a step forward. Then another, and the detective felt something braced behind him. The Emphream Thief had cornered him and he couldn’t find anywhere to run. Not when they were close. Close enough that he saw the speckled gemstones on their white mask, its nose pointed like a beak, highlighting their eyes. Their eyes. He couldn’t stop staring at their eyes.
Al-Haitham directed his attention away from the red’s warmth and onto a rolled sheet of parchment in their hands. Now hang on a minute-
The Emphream Thief must’ve noticed his newfound focus, because they began to bounce away from Al-Haitham and towards a window. They knocked off the flap and opened it, the chilly night breeze roaming the room. Crouched over the ledge, they gifted the detective a knowing, and perhaps the most attractive smirk Al-Haitham has seen. He ignored the festering feeling that only grew, clamping it down the best he could. The red was about to flee, and so would they.
“Well, you said you could arrest me, detective Al-Haitham,” the Emphream Thief said. “Why won’t you try?”
He will try. Right now actually.
Al-Haitham reached his hand over to- Al-Haitham moved to grab- huh? He’s tugging on his arms, his wrists, towards where his handcuffs were on his holster. Didn’t he take it out to arrest the thief once he… began to move closer to him…
If he was able to shoot the Emphream thief, he would’ve. Not could’ve. No. Marked, aimed, and shot. The moment he heard a lively laughter, much too loud but also genuine (maybe the most genuine sound Al-Haitham has heard from the thief tonight), the thief had waved goodbye to him. “Next time, how about you actually try and arrest me, hm? Until then, I have what I wanted, and I got to meet my other half,” and wow that did something to Al-Haitham’s insides, “so try and win this game. Catch me if you can, detective Al-Haitham.”
He will. Al-Haitham will win this game, too stubborn to negotiate otherwise. Al-Haitham will catch the Emphream Thief.
… Maybe after somebody uncuffs him first. If Kaveh knew why he arrived home later tonight… he’d prefer for only Cyno to know.
“Do not fret. I will catch you,” and for added protective measure, because Al-Haitham always had the last word, he yelled out to the open window: “And for the record, the way you pretend to laugh is miserable to listen to.”