Chapter Text
Red is an odd color for a thief to choose as a mask, but it’s his favorite, and that helps him feel very slightly better about what he’s about to do.
The streets are strangely quiet as he makes his way up the fire escape, edges his way along the side of the building, and pries open the window that he left cracked earlier in the day.
He wedges his shoulders through, wiggles, and slips to the floor. He winces at the quiet thud that his body makes as it hits the ground, but quickly shakes it off as he makes his way toward the door.
A pause. Something in him senses movement, but when he glances around, he’s the only person inside the apartment. The apartment that is rather smaller and less extravagant than most that they case, he thinks, and the thought makes him uncomfortable.
But this isn’t about comfort, and between the regret and his nerves, he’s already wasted enough time. Light as a cat, he crosses the final few feet to the door and unlocks it.
Three more boys make their way in, turn up the gas lamps, start to move around. There’s a moment of whispered tension – the treasure they seek isn’t in the location they expect, and the boy is sent to check the bedroom.
Pushing the door open, he is met with the sudden realization that he should have listened to his gut earlier.
Standing in the corner, barely visible in the light from the living room, is a girl with a rifle.
Panic floods his mind as he raises his hands. She’s not supposed to be here, no one is supposed to be here, and the words are out of his mouth before he knows it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
The girl tilts her head. Whether it’s surprise or curiosity, he isn’t sure, but he doesn’t care what it is, so long as it keeps her from pulling the trigger.
“Please-” he starts, then falters. It’s not her fault they picked her apartment. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but how could she have known that? If the others see her, this whole job will go to pieces.
He makes a decision. “Please,” he whispers. “We’re not here for you. You weren’t supposed to be here. We’re just looking for a trinket – a Faberge. Get under the bed, hide, stay there ‘til we leave. I’ll tell them it wasn’t in here, but you need to get out of sight.”
The girl lowers the gun. He breathes a sigh of relief, then freezes when he hears a whispered question from the living room.
“No, I didn’t see it in here,” he responds. The lie slips easily from his lips, just like all the others.
He turns, just for a second, to make sure the girl has hidden herself safely.
There’s a flash of light against metal, a blossom of fire across his chest, the feeling of falling. His head cracks against the ground, and his vision is fuzzy. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes a gleam of green and gold under the bed.
A loud, sharp noise issues from the living room. Blearily, he turns his heavy head. Through the crack in the door, he sees the girl fall. Through the crack in the door, he hears the panicked whispers of the other boys. Through the crack in the door, he sees them waver, turn, and slip out of the room as silently as they’d come in.
The room is horribly still. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the boy knows that he, too, needs to flee like the others. That he should take that gleam of green and gold, make his exit, and save his own skin. That he should leave the poor, dead girl to be discovered by another.
Then he hears a quiet whimper. His heart skips a beat.
She’s still alive.
The boy pulls himself to his feet and stumbles into the living room. He watches his hands, wrapped in his thief’s kerchief, press against the wound in her side. He hears his voice scream for help.
Red is no longer his favorite color.