The clatter of keys is starting to become incessant—almost painful—as her fingers dart across the keyboard. The words practically flow out naturally from the tips of her fingers and Castorice can already imagine the screen filled with a multitude of lines that encapsulate the headline of her next article.

Well, it definitely is in her imagination.

The journalist looks back up at her screen, only to be met with a nearly blank page—save for a singular line. The cursor flickers mockingly at her, as though disappointed by her lack of writing. She rereads the only sentence she's written in the past hour and promptly presses backspace once she realises how robotic and unnatural it sounds.

She frowns, gaze flickering away from the blinding screen, to instead stare at her cup of tea that has now grown lukewarm. She takes a sip from the mug—as if drinking it would cure her debilitating writer's block. Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

The cursor flickers back at her again.

Castorice can only sigh, annoyed.

By the time she attempts to redirect her thoughts towards her article again, the low glow from the setting sun already illuminates their dim office. Her coworkers begin to take their leave, and Castorice politely returns their goodbyes. She decides it's about time for her to do the same—promising herself that she'll work on her article the following day, with a fresh mind. Quickly packing her things, Castorice closes her laptop before the blank page can taunt her yet again.

It isn't often that she finds herself stuck on her compositions, whether it be her work-related articles or the side stories she writes from time to time. Usually, the words come out before she can even think of them—but now, Castorice seems to be in some sort of a…’slump’, for lack of a better word.

She's tried various things over the past week to overcome it. Taking a break and researching her other areas of interests weren't helping. Neither was jotting down every single idea that came to her head. Maybe it was like Phainon had said—that she was nitpicking the minor details in her article. Or perhaps she was simply out of motivation—which Tribbie had suggested. Whatever it was, Castorice sees no point in dwelling on it. She'll continue trying everyday, until this creative barrier eventually fizzles out.

“Castorice,” a familiar voice startles the journalist. She looks up from her desk, to notice her boss calling out for her. “Could I have a word with you?”

It's a request that has only one option for Castorice to choose. She nods, making her way into the woman's office. Once in the room, her boss gestures for the journalist to take a seat across from her, and Castorice obliges.

Aglaea’s office is rather modest—with no extravagant decorations, or anything that stands out too much. It's simple yet elegant, befitting someone as mysterious as Aglaea. Castorice has seen the inside of this room countless times—practically knows every nook and cranny in this office—but she can't help but feel the unease bubbling up inside of her. As her boss looks her in the eye with an unreadable expression, Castorice begins to feel self conscious.

She has no clue about the reason for being summoned into Aglaea’s office. Had she forgotten any deadlines? Did she do something wrong? Letting the possibilities flow in her head, the journalist can't seem to pinpoint any exact reason.

“Uhm, Lady Aglaea…” Castorice musters the courage to speak. “Was there a reason you requested to see me?”

“I apologise for keeping you late Cas, but I do have something to clarify with you,” Aglaea states, reaching down to rummage through the drawer of her desk.

As Castorice fidgets with her fingers, she watches Aglaea slide a crisp white envelope across the table towards her. It's completely plain, save for a scrawl of words that she can only decipher as her own name. She looks up at Aglaea, expectantly, befuzzled with the current situation she was in.

“When I entered my office this morning, this envelope was left on my desk,” Aglaea explains upon seeing the clueless look on her employee's face. “I'm unsure of how it ended up here. There's no stamp, nor any address that leads back to the sender. The only information I had was that it was addressed to you.” Aglaea taps the envelope to emphasise her point. “So, I believe this letter is rightfully yours to keep.”

A letter? Despite being thankful that she wasn't in any trouble, this only confuses Castorice even more. She hasn't really received any letters at her workplace before—let alone an anonymous one that ended up on her boss’s table. Still, her confusion does start to turn into curiosity about the contents of the mysterious envelope.

“Oh,” Castorice sighs in relief. She reaches out for the envelope, feeling the smooth paper in between her fingers. “...Is there anything else you need, Lady Aglaea?”

The blonde woman gives Castorice a smile, leaning back on her chair. She pauses before replying. “You aren't involved in anything illegal, are you?” Her tone is teasing, rather than accusatory.

“Of…Of course not…!” The sudden statement catches Castorice off guard and she scrambles to answer. “I-I'm not some corrupt adult.”

“I was merely joking.” The flustered expression of her usually quiet employee makes Aglaea laugh. “...See you tomorrow, Cas.”

Castorice nods, returning the gesture as she leaves Aglaea’s office with even more questions than when she had entered. The weight of the envelope feels like it’s growing in the journalist's hand, and she's tempted to open it. But for now, she shoves it into her bag—deciding to open it when she gets home instead. It's definitely not because she's a bit worried about the potential content in the letter.

Castorice doesn't think of much as she makes her way home. For the most part, her thoughts and gaze flicker back to the letter now stashed in her bag.

When the door to her apartment clicks shut, she takes off her shoes while rummaging through her bag for the item holding her attention.

The light shining down on the table somehow makes the letter look even more ominous as Castorice stares at it. When she can't handle the curiosity brimming up inside of her anymore, she tears open the envelope to find a letter with the same scrawled handwriting.

A fan? That was definitely unusual. Castorice has had admirers of her work before, sure, but certainly not to this extent. She isn't sure why such a ‘fan’ would go to such extreme and elusive lengths to send a letter to her.

While it does seem suspicious, their request does pique the journalist’s interest. Criminology wasn't necessarily Castorice’s interest, but even so, the temptation to look into these thefts is gnawing away at her. Moreso, due to the fact that this could be her chance to get out of her slump—by starting over with a blank page and delving into uncharted territory!

She sets the letter back down on the counter, giving herself a reminder to keep it later. But first, Castorice is already reaching for her laptop and making a beeline for her bedroom.

Hopping into bed and wrapping the comforter around her body, Castorice cracks her knuckles before beginning her research. The screen of her laptop flickers to life, and within moments, she's already typing “Thefts in Okhema” into the search bar.

Under the blinding glow of her laptop, dozens of articles over the past few weeks pop up. Her eyes flicker from headline to headline, and the ideas are already seeping into her mind.

This will work. Castorice convinces herself as her scrolling grows more focused. She hadn't expected it so soon, but she thinks that she's just found the next big idea for her article.

She'll have to thank that “fan” one day—if they even exist in the first place.

★☆★☆★

“Any reason for the sudden interest in criminals, Cas?” Tribbie looks up from the newspaper in her hands. Trinnon and Trianne are beside her, skimming through the contents of the article as well.

“Uhm, there isn't any particular reason…” Castorice answers, scratching the back of her neck.

It wasn't exactly a lie, the journalist was simply sparing the triplets from the long story of how she'd ended up writing her new article. To be fair, there probably wasn't any good way to say: “Oh, well a letter that popped up out of nowhere, and was written by a supposed fan of mine, asked me to write something about this case. So after doing a bunch of research on it, it intrigued me enough that my writer's block was cured!”

Simply put, if anyone else had told Castorice that, she would've expressed concern—that's for sure.

“Well, we're just happy you managed to write something again!” Trianne perks up, grinning at Castorice. “Are you planning to write more about Thief Star?”

While Castorice hadn't really thought much more about the case, she can't deny the fact that she wants to keep up with the story. It's a rather peculiar situation to occur in Okhema—a thief reeking havoc in the Eternal Holy City.

She doesn't know when was the last time she'd stayed up that late to do research, but she doesn't regret it one bit. Speculating the thief's possible motives and modus operandi were a big reason the journalist was able to write her article. She definitely owes them a ‘thank you’ for sparking inspiration in her. But then again, despite her interest in the suspect, Castorice can't say she condones their actions. Theft was illegal after all, and the thief would no doubt end up behind bars if caught.

“So long as there's new developments to the case—” Castorice begins, rubbing her weary eyes with the back of her hand. “I think I'd like to write more about them.”

The triplets nod in understanding, with Trinnon being the first to speak up. “We're sure Cerydra wouldn't mind…”

Castorice nods in replacement of a reply. Cerydra—another one of her coworkers—often wrote articles in regards to ongoing court cases. She didn't really write much about criminal activities, having a greater interest in law itself instead. So, she probably wouldn't have cared either way.

As the triplets continue telling Castorice about the various events of the day, she listens intently at their eagerness to share.

For now, she'll try to work on her other articles—in the hopes that Thief Star’s is the renewal of her writing capabilities. It doesn't seem like the authorities have had any leads as to who Thief Star really is anyway, but she's sure it's only a matter of time before the long arm of the law catches up with them.

★☆★☆★

Castorice lets out a hushed sigh as the door shuts behind her once again, like it always has. After another day at the office, and the fact that she had stayed up the night before, the journalist is beyond tired.

Like any other day, Castorice wants to fall into the sweet embrace of her bed. But, a shine of gold across her catches her eye. She freezes momentarily, rushing over to the source. She's met with a gold coin and a folded piece of paper.

It can't be. Castorice’s heart drops, as she recalls the details from her latest article—this was no doubt an exact copy of Thief Star’s usual tricks. Had she…just become their next victim? She scrambles to check for her belongings, but everything seems to be safe. Her windows and doors were, and still are locked, so there wasn't any way for the thief to get in. It's as though her apartment has been left untouched since she was here in the morning, and yet, the shimmering coin and accompanying letter only says otherwise. This must've been what their victims felt—dread, worry, scared.

Castorice can't provide any explanation to their sudden appearance. Nor can she question why exactly she's had anonymous letters appear twice in the same week. But, it seems Thief Star themself does. Albeit hesitant, Castorice walks back over to open the folded paper.

She doesn't know what to feel about the letter. Scared that Thief Star had managed to break into her home? Wary about Thief Star’s true intentions? Annoyed at their attempts to make fun of her? Regardless of what she feels, there are facts that she can conclude with certainty:

• Thief Star knows where she lives.

It probably isn't safe for a thief and now, potential stalker, to know where you live. While they mostly seemed neutral in their letter, if Castorice did anything against them, she's sure they could find her at any time.

• Despite this, they did not steal anything from Castorice’s home.

They had stated that her items were ‘rightfully (hers)’. Could this mean that Thief Star only stole from those who they deemed ‘deserving’ of it? Could this mean that Thief Star was possibly a vigilante? Or did they merely have grudges against their victims?

• Thief Star is confident in their abilities.

Castorice doesn't know why a small journalist like her had garnered the attention of a serial thief, but the fact that they willingly broke into Castorice’s home with no intention of stealing anything is a testament to their confidence in their skills. Not only that, they must've believed that Castorice wouldn't report this matter to the police—which was true. There was no evidence of a break in, so it's not like there was any crime to report anyway. Even if she did, the authorities wouldn't have taken her seriously. A serial thief breaking into a journalist’s home just to drop off a letter? Practically unheard of.

Castorice stands still, fingers tracing the unfolded letter for a long moment after reading. She finds the scrawl of words familiar—noting the curl in the letter ‘Y’, the open ‘O’s, as well as the slant of the letters to the right. It's as though she's seen them from somewhere before…

The journalist crosses the room, digging through her drawer to find the letter she'd received from that anonymous fan. She places them side by side, and within seconds, she confirms it. The handwriting matched.

They were the same person—that much was clear now.

It had been a set-up from the start. She'd gone from writing an article for a fan, to inadvertently…conversing with Thief Star.

The journalist groans at the realisation, staring back down at the two letters. All she had ever wanted was to live a simple life, and now, she's got herself caught up in a plot line of a mystery novel. This was bad.

Not life threatening bad, but probably career-ruining bad. What would the media say if they knew a journalist was friends with a serial thief? Actually, the media would love hearing something that crazy, to attract readers, but becoming a part of a scandal isn't something Castorice can afford—nor wants.

She shakes the thought away. She's overthinking again. All she has to do was ignore Thief Star’s letters, and stop writing articles about them. Her short lived creative spree was finally at its end—and she needed to let it go.

But then again, was this what she really wanted…?

Did she want to stop this interaction? Just when was the last time her life had been this exciting? She can't ever recall anything memorable that's happened these past few years. Still—

Castorice knows that it's wrong—that all it'll give her is trouble. And yet, she just can't help but be enthralled by such a scenario.

She'll be…cautious, and if things ever get too dangerous or seemingly illegal, she'll stop immediately. Otherwise, she'll continue writing, with this secret being kept between only her and Thief Star.

She stows the letters away for safe keeping, and rubs the gold coin between her fingers. She feels the grooves of the markings slide across her thumb.

With her dilemma finally settled, the Journalist feels as though she could breathe again. Besides working on her next article…

Castorice knows what she needs to do next.

★☆★☆★

“Ms. Castorice,” a gruff voice shakes the journalist out of her thoughts. "It's a pleasure to meet you.”

She looks up to spot Krateros—the Captain of Okhema’s police department—walking over towards her.

Standing up from her quaint seat in the waiting area, Castorice mimics the man in front of her and reaches out her hand.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, sir,” Castorice offers a polite smile as the two shake hands. “I know you must be busy.”

The man lets out a hearty chuckle, “How could I reject the request of a reporter from the Flame-Chase Chronicles? Please, come this way.” He gestures behind him, leading her to the offices located in the back of the police station.

Castorice hadn't expected Krateros’s personality to be like this. Mydei had merely told her that he was a ‘formidable and courageous man’ and not much else. From looks alone, the Captain’s rough and hardened exterior had made her assume that he'd be more stern and possibly unwelcoming of a reporter. Thankfully though, he seemed to exuberate a warm radiance around him. Maybe this interview wouldn't be so bad at all—and she could get answers regarding Thief Star.

Now in his office, the Captain sits across from her, clasping his hands together. His desk is rather bare, but Castorice notes a tall stack of what she assumes to be documents on one side of his table.

“You're here to ask about this…‘Thief Star’, correct?” Krateros asks, getting straight to the point.

“...Right,” Castorice confirms. “I was merely wondering about how the investigations are going? Any new revelations or insights?”

Krateros leans back on his chair slightly, huffing. The creak of the wooden frame irks Castorice, but she remains composed, notepad in hand to jot down any necessary details.

“Since it's an ongoing investigation, I'm afraid I can't say much,” Krateros explains. “As of today, Thief Star has already been identified to be the person of interest in 9 separate cases. They've been a pain in our neck for the past month.”

Castorice nods. She knows this already—having been keeping track of each incident Thief Star was involved in.

“Have the police identified any potential suspects yet?” Castorice asks.

“Unfortunately not,” the Captain sighs, shaking his head. “However, based on our ongoing investigations, we believe that they've been targeting wealthier individuals.”

“We've recently noticed a pattern. After looking at the details of each victim, we realised that Thief Star has been targeting a vast amount of Okhema’s nobles and elites,” noticing the intent look on Castorice’s face, he continues. “Considering that they've been stealing mostly cash and valuable items, it would explain why they would be targeting the wealthier individuals of Okhema.” He pauses, his tone turning grim. “But, it would also suggest that Thief Star has chosen these victims on purpose, and that they aren't breaking into just anyone's home. This is all just speculation of course.”

“I see.” The plot has indeed thickened, Castorice thinks. Thief Star had meticulously planned out their break-ins. They weren't as unserious as the journalist had initially thought. A small part of her is scared about what they could do next. “Do you think the Okhema Police Department will be able to arrest Thief Star any time soon?”

The question seems to have caught Krateros off guard, and he takes a few moments to reply.

“We're…working on it,” Krateros says, though his expressions suggest he doesn't necessarily think so. He eyes the shuttered blinds to his right before muttering. “Between you and me, the staff shortages here definitely aren't helping.”

The scratching of her pen stops.

“Staff shortages?” Castorice finds herself repeating it out loud. While Okhema isn't a stranger to shortages in employment in the various sectors of the economy, the fact that now the police department is facing one is news for the journalist.

“We've been a bit short staffed recently,” Krateros nods solemnly. “Between the lack of recruits and the upcoming elections, I've had to do some reassignments of my officers. Considering that we haven't found any ounce of evidence to identify Thief Star…”

Castorice brows furrow as she realises the weight behind his words. Internally, she panics, but she can't identify a reason why she does so. “...You're giving up on finding Thief Star?”

Krateros, sighs. “Look, kid. I'm not saying that.” He points towards the documents on his table. “Thief Star is meticulous, they haven't left anything of note, nor have they left any prints at the scene of the crime. He frowns. “I don't want to let a criminal roam free in Okhema, but without any new breakthroughs in the case, we can't proceed forward. There isn't anything we can do, other than take down the reports from victims.”

Although Castorice is disappointed with the reality of the situation, she's surprised Krateros had shared this much with her. He's being honest and that's all the journalist could ask for.

Okhema has long since had its issues. Thief Star is merely another one added to the pile of dozens of others.

“I appreciate your insight, sir, but I have one last question if you wouldn't mind?” Castorice smiles sincerely, taking his nod as approval. The journalist digs through her bag, searching for the main reason she wanted to meet Krateros. She places it in the centre of the desk. “I was wondering if you were familiar with this coin.”

She says it calmly, though her heart starts to pick up its pace. It's a risky move, after all.

Her question is soon answered when Krateros’s eyes visibly enlarge at the sight of the shimmering gold object.

He furrows his brows, a look of confusion washing over him. “Ms Castorice, where exactly did you get this?

“It was from an informant,” Castorice lies, quickly taking the coin back into her possession. “...I'm assuming you recognise it, then?”

The police captain eyes Castorice suspiciously but relents. “Yes, it's one of Thief Star’s coins—the same one that's been showing up at every break-in.”

Satisfied with the answer, the journalist stashes the coin back into her bag. Now she had confirmation that the real Thief Star had broken into her home. Krateros continues to narrow his eyes at her.

The police captain leans forward on his desk, voice tense. “Ms Castorice, you aren't hiding potential evidence, are you?”

“O-Of course not!” Castorice proclaims, mind racing. Krateros hadn't bought her lie and she can't possibly reveal the true reason she has Thief Star’s coin. There's only one way out: to come up with more lies. “I'm merely doing research for my articles. One of Thief Star’s victims had requested me to continue investigating them.”

“I see.” Whether Krateros believes such an ambiguous lie, he doesn't show it in his expressions. He merely leans back on his chair. “But if you ever find any important information, you come directly to me, alright?”

Castorice agrees, relief flooding through her. “Of course, captain—Thank you again for your time.”

Before Krateros can say anything, the phone on his desk rings. He waves goodbye to the journalist, picking up the phone and talks in hushed whispers that Castorice can't make out.

When Castorice exits the police station, she's once again met with the blazing sun shining down on Okhema’s Streets. She walks back to the office with renewed confidence and clarity. After all, it's about time she started working on her next article.

★☆★☆★

For the most part, Castorice is satisfied with her latest article. It's been a while since she was last able to write so freely—without any creative barriers holding her back—and the feeling of it is invigorating. She's felt this past week fly by as she goes between her usual duties at work as well as her research on Thief Star.

Speaking of the thief…

Castorice was busy composing an email towards one of their victims. Surprisingly, the man had reached out after reading one of her articles, and thankfully—it isn't another one of Thief Star’s alter egos.

With this interview, she'd be able to gain more insight into Thief Star’s operations, and honestly, Castorice is…excited, to say the least.

She types away on her keyboard, hitting ‘send’ once she's finished. She takes a final sip from her cup, savouring the coffee that has kept her awake the whole day.

“Would you like a refill on that?” The abrupt question startles Castorice, as she glances to the right, noting a new presence in her vicinity.

A woman dressed in what Castorice recognises as the staff uniform raises a pitcher of freshly brewed coffee. Her face is partially obscured by a hat and mask, but based on her bright cyan eyes—that stood out underneath grey wisps of hair—the Journalist can tell that she's smiling. In a way, she feels familiar, but Castorice can't exactly pinpoint just what.

“Oh. Thank you,” Castorice answers, sliding her mug closer to the woman.

She pours the hot coffee into Castorice’s mug, and when she stops, she looks at Castorice, puzzled.

“If you don't mind me asking…” The Barista starts. “Are you Castorice Dios? From The Flame-Chase Chronicles?”

The question leaves Castorice stunned. She's never been recognised in public before. She awkwardly nods in reply, feeling self conscious under the woman's gaze.

“Oh my Titans! I never thought I'd meet you in person!” She excitedly says, reaching out her hand towards Castorice. “It's really nice to meet you!”

Castorice obliges, returning the gesture. Eventually she tilts her head, confused. “I'm sorry, you are…?”

“Oh, sorry if my excitement scared you. I'm just a really big fan of your work, especially your articles regarding Thief Star!” The woman says, gesturing towards a name tag pinned to her shirt. “You can call me Apate.”

Seriously, another ‘fan’? Her fingers twitch above her keyboard—an involuntary reflex brought on by the paranoia ever since her supposed fans started showing up—or rather, Thief Star themself. Perhaps her lack of sleep is catching up to her, because Castorice doesn't turn the woman away.

She wants to be polite, and given that ‘Apate’ seems to be a legitimate employee, she shoves down her unease, and motions for the woman to sit across from her.

Apate accepts immediately, slipping down into the seat with ease—as though she's done this countless times.

“I'm…curious. Is there any particular reason why you enjoy my articles on Thief Star?” Castorice asks.

It's a harmless question, the journalist thinks. It's more so to satiate her curiosity, rather than to fish for compliments.

“Well, I personally think your insights are interesting to read,” Apate remarks, drumming her fingers onto the wooden table. “Your titles are also great hooks that draw the readers in.”

Castorice raises a brow, closing her laptop. “Is that so?”

“I don't really think there's a word for it. But simply put—I enjoy your works, regardless of the topic. Perhaps you can say it’s regarding your tone…?” Apate nods, her hat tipping slightly. “Honestly, with the way Okhema has been lately, reading news about people like Thief Star brings a breath of fresh air.”

“...I see,” the journalist says. She had never considered the emotional impact of her work on readers before. “Well, thank you. I'm glad you enjoy reading my works.”

They chat for a while more, with Castorice’s initial unease washing away. Apate is a rather easy person to talk to—with how friendly and outgoing she seems to be—and Castorice finds herself letting her guard down. She's genuinely thankful that she's met a real fan this time, and that she's not walking herself into another trap.

Eventually, Apate’s coworker calls for her, signaling for her to leave. She waves to Castorice, thanking her for her time, before bouncing away to continue her job.

Castorice lets herself smile, turning away from the scene to occupy herself with her now refilled coffee. She lifts it up, taking a sip—

And almost spits it out.

On the table lies a sinister gold coin that the Journalist is all too familiar with. She groans.

Castorice quickly scans her surroundings in the crowded diner, but doesn't spot anyone out of the ordinary.

She then frantically picks up her belongings, looking for any sign of a note. When she opens her bag, she finds a crumpled piece of paper laying right on top—as though taunting her.

Castorice doesn't know what to think. So, she opts to crumple the piece of paper and dump it into her bag. She then gathers her belongings, storming out of the diner with a newfound feeling of annoyance growing inside of her.

★☆★☆★

Castorice clicks away on the glowing blue screen, in the midst of completing her mind-numbing task of responding to emails. The office was rather quiet today, and the journalist assumes her coworkers were done with most of today's tasks as well.

For the most part, Castorice hasn't found any new leads or insights into Thief Star’s case. Captain Krateros was still insisting that the police were working hard at investigating, but so far, there haven't been any new outcomes. Perhaps Thief Star was right—not that Castorice wants to admit it—but maybe the criminal really was untraceable after all.

No one has been able to identify them, and even with the ominous letters the journalist has been getting, she still has no clue just what they're up to.

After getting the second letter just last week, Castorice did some research. Looking at the three coins, she had noticed that there was a symbol engraved on them each time. She wasn't able to find the meaning of the symbol, but they did seem to have been engraved by hand—given the inconsistent and crooked lines. So, whatever it meant probably held some significant value for Thief Star.

She's had a few days to take in the contents of the letter, and Castorice realises that she isn't scared at all. Thief Star hasn't tried anything just yet, but from the looks of it, the journalist doesn't seem to fit their criteria—that was one thing she was sure about.

She glances towards her screen again, eyes catching sight of a new incoming email. She immediately sits up straight, leaning closer to stare at the subject: ‘INTERVIEW ON THIEF STAR’

Castorice smiles slightly, eyes widening. She'd lost hope on the interview thinking that the man had changed his mind, but it doesn't seem to be the case.

Perhaps Castorice does have new information after all.

★☆★☆★

“What the…?” The man whips his head upwards, to the sound of the commotion upstairs.

Castorice pauses the recording on her phone, eyes directed to the noise as well. Her breath quickens, and she doesn't have a good feeling about what's to come.

“Sir! I-It's…!” A guard comes rushing in, frantic. He struggles to get through his words, as though what he has seen has left him speechless.

Sebastian grows impatient, his originally friendly facade fading. He frowns, commanding. “Spit it out already!”

The guard straightens from his spot, shouting. “T-Thief Star tried to break in!”

Again? Castorice wonders. Did the guard possibly mistake someone for Thief Star? Or did they just have a strong vendetta against Economou that they were willing to break in again? Well, tried to, at least.

“What?!” Sebastian eyes widen in surprise, but furrows his brows the next second. He stands up, crossing his arms. “Gather the other guards and find him—immediately!”

The guard flees the room, sprinting to carry out his orders. Castorice feels somewhat bad for him.

“I'm…sorry, Ms Castorice,” Sebastian paces around before stepping in front of the journalist. He clasps his hands together in an apology. “It seems as though we'll have to continue this conversation another time.”

“It's no worries,” Castorice stands as well, nodding. “...Would you like me to help search for Thief Star as well?”

He raises a brow confused. “Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't possibly ask that of you, Ms Castorice! It's much too dangerous.”

This could be her chance to get a glimpse of Thief Star, and despite the possible threats, she doesn't want to ruin this opportunity.

“Please, I insist Mr Economou,” Castorice offers a sincere smile. “I'll keep myself safe.”

He huffs, but after a few moments, the man relents. “Just let any of the guards know if you spot him, okay? I'm going to call Captain Krateros.”

Castorice nods, and hurries out one of the entrances of the business man's home.

She stumbles out into what seems to be his…backyard? It's rather dark, given that the sun has already set, and Castorice can barely see her own two feet. But, she can still see the damp grass below her and spots the fence lining the perimeter of his home.

She takes another cautious step into the backyard, taking in her surroundings. Shadows stretch endlessly across the yard, and her skin prickles—as if the air itself is charged with a sense of danger. It's just her alone there, after all. Sebastian and his guards were busy elsewhere—most likely surveying within the house and at the front instead.

Castorice continues trudging through the yard, using the flashlight on her phone as a source of light. She doesn't spot anything out of the ordinary just yet, only the sounds of crickets and cicadas humming in the dark of the night.

She eventually spots a shed, and an odd sense of dread overcomes her. The wooden shed stands alone eerily, but its door is left slightly ajar. Weirdly, a hint of something metallic lingers near the shed, and Castorice is concerned about what lies ahead—what could jump out.

Perhaps the journalist is feeling adventurous that night, because she pushes open the door without hesitation. She lets out an immediate sigh of relief when it turns out there's no one inside. Only a bunch of worn-out gardening tools and various other items.

Maybe Thief Star wasn't here after all…

The rustling of leaves alerts Castorice, whose elongated ears raise slightly. She turns off her phone's flashlight, taking a wary step forward to the surrounding bushes. Staring down at the thick bushes, her breath ceases, not wanting to alert whoever—or whatever—was in them. A gust of wind flies by and Castorice swears she sees a stagnant figure in front of her. Against her better judgement, she moves closer, closing her eyes—

And tackles whatever was in the bushes.

They're both (Castorice assumes it's another person) sent flying to the ground, blades of grass crushing underneath their shared weight. From the blur of movement, she can make out that they're cloaked and masked up—their identity hidden. Whoever it was wasn't going down without a fight, as their arms flail and claw at the journalist’s arms, leaving scratches in their wake.

“S-Stop…!” Castorice whisper-shouts, in an attempt to placate them. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work and their scuffle continues.

Somehow, the journalist manages to overpower them, leaving them lying beneath her. They're still struggling—trying to break free from Castorice’s grasp—but they don't say anything. In the midst of everything, a harsh knock lowers their cloak down and Castorice freezes.

They're both panting at this point, but the sight before her wakes her up immediately. Despite the darkness shrouding them, Castorice can spot those piercing blue eyes from anywhere—it's her.

“You're…” Castorice begins, at a loss of what to say. Their eyes widen as well—as though realising what conclusion the journalist had come to.

She had actually caught up to Thief Star.

Her heart pounds in her chest. When she volunteered to help search, Castorice merely thought she'd get a chance to catch a glimpse of Thief Star—not this. The Thief's eyes lock onto hers, but they don't look menacing at all, moreso…innocent.

Then suddenly, a voice echoes. “Ms Castorice?! Are you all right?”

The journalist whips her head around, with Thief Star still pinned underneath her. She can already see flashlights coming in their direction—most likely Sebastian and his guards having heard the commotion.

Her eyes flicker back to Thief Star, who merely stares back up at her—mockingly.

Castorice doesn't know what overcomes her, but she releases her grip, standing up. Thief Star hesitates momentarily, before getting up as well. With a proper view of the Thief, Castorice catches sight of patches of red absorbed by their cloak—no doubt the source of that metallic smell earlier. They don't say anything to the journalist, merely climbing over the fence, not once looking back.

She sighs, releasing a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

“Ms Castorice!” The voice comes again, and Castorice quickly tries to brush the dirt off her outfit.

“Mr Economou,” Castorice clears her throat, hoping her voice doesn't betray her. “My apologies, I didn't mean to worry you.”

The exasperated man runs over with his guards following closely behind. He looks at her once over, asking. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I'm quite all right,” Castorice says. “I thought I heard someone in the bushes, but it was merely a…stray cat.”

Even if Sebastian doubts her, he doesn't question further. . “I've already called the police—they're on their way.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Why don't I walk you out? Let's bring this…eventful evening to a close, shall we?”

“Of course,” Castorice answers calmly. But deep down, she knows this night is far from over.

After tonight's events, Castorice doesn't think she'll be able to sleep with peace of mind.

★☆★☆★

Castorice wouldn't consider herself to be a paranoid person, per se, it's just that she's mostly wary of things—from the odd scam calls, to overly enthusiastic fans. But in recent weeks, she's starting to think that her paranoia has multiplied ten-fold.

From blurs of shadows running across the room, to even the slightest drop of the pen—Castorice gets startled. It's been an unconscious action these last few days, and she doesn't think it's going to be stopping anytime soon. She hasn't written any more articles, nor followed up with Sebastian regarding the interview—too anxious to even think about it. The worst part is that she can't even tell anyone about this…situation.

Who would even believe her? It would probably sound like something from one of her novels.

Letting Thief Star go was a spur of the moment decision and Castorice is starting to regret it. She'd seen parts of their face—which practically means that their identity has been completely exposed—and she's sure they definitely did not plan on doing so. She hasn't contacted the police at all, but it's not like the Thief would know…

Oh Titans. It's only a matter of time before Thief Star tracks her down again, isn't it? Before they break into her home and threaten her to keep quiet? Before they ultimately decide that silencing the journalist is the best opti—?

Perhaps that's a bit too drastic.

Castorice knows that Thief Star has done illegal things, but she's sure the criminal isn't a murderer. Right?

The sudden thought certainly doesn't help with her paranoia.

Sweat trickles down her forehead as her hand grips onto her forearm—in an attempt to ground herself. It wouldn't be good to panic in public after all.

“...Castorice,” a voice appears beside her. “Are you alright?”

Castorice peers up at the white-haired man, with a look of concern written all over his face.

Phainon had a tendency to be weirdly receptive to other's emotions and often could sense when someone was down. On any other occasion, Castorice would explain her current situation to the man, but this time she can't. She doesn't want to worry him, nor get him caught up in Thief Star’s antics, so she tells him nothing.

“A-Ah, yes. Sorry, what were you two saying?” She shakes her head, deflecting.

“I was just talking about this new café that opened up a few blocks down,” Phainon answers in his usual cheery tone. “Mydei said he'd tag along, what about you?”

“Oh, sure,” Castorice says, smiling. She needed a distraction anyway.

“We should hurry then,” Mydei speaks up from beside Phainon. “Before the lines get long.”

The trio continue their walk down the streets of Okhema, heading for the café. The light chatter between them does help to ease Castorice’s nerves somewhat, but her agitation persists. The streets start to get increasingly crowded, and eventually, they're met with loud cheers and shouts echoing off the walls of surrounding buildings.

“Huh, the protests have been getting really big recently, haven't they?” Phainon comments, as he swerves through the influx of people.

Castorice can spot the large group of people marching down the roads. They're holding signs, and banners, chanting out their dismay for the Council of Elders. While she wasn't part of the journalists involved in reporting about the politics of Okhema, Castorice is aware that the protests have intensified over the past few weeks.

“It's to be expected,” Castorice mentions. “The elections are around the corner after all...”

“Now that I think about it,” Phainon begins, looking back down at Castorice. “I read online that Thief Star’s been a reason people started protesting. Hey! Maybe that could be your next article!”

Her breath hitches at the mention of that name.

“...Maybe,” Castorice says, attempting to keep her voice steady. She decides to change the topic. “What about you, Mydei? Have you been writing anything of interest recently?”

“There isn't…much,” he's startled by the sudden attention now placed on him, but answers anyway. “It's probably going to be about the revitalisation efforts in Castrum Kremnos.” Mydei shrugs.

“Oh, nice!” Phainon exclaims. “You should show me around there one day!”

The journalist begins to say something, but she's instead interrupted by a rough shove to her shoulder.

Castorice staggers back, bumping into Phainon. She glances behind, only to witness a hooded figure weave into the crowd—seemingly without a care in the world. She frowns at the lack of apology, but it's not like there's anything she could do about it.

Her eyes then trail downwards, only to spot a shimmering circle lying mockingly on the pavement.

She freezes.

Not again…

“Castorice, are you alright?” Mydei asks in concern.

“Yeesh, the nerve of some people,” Phainon chimes in, looking worriedly at the journalist

“I-I'm alright,” Castorice stammers a reply. Her hands frantically pats her coat. Her heart jumps once she feels the familiar material of paper in one of her pockets. “Sorry.”

“Hey, there's nothing to apologise for.” Phainon says, patting Castorice on the shoulder. “In fact, that jerk should be the one apologising.”

Pairs of eyes stare down at her, as Castorice stands idly in the middle of the sidewalk. But she doesn't care—not when the threat of Thief Star looms over her.

“Castorice…?” Phainon says, but the Journalist doesn't answer. She can barely process his words as her thoughts flicker rapidly through her mind.

The gold coin is still on the floor, and so, Castorice reaches down for it. A brief wave of panic rushes over her once she grabs it.

She jumps back up, spinning around to face her bewildered coworkers.

“I'm sorry, I have…I h-have to go. You two can go to the café without me!” Castorice musters out the words, before sprinting in the direction of the office.

“Castorice?!” Phainon and Mydei call out for her, but Castorice doesn't look back. She runs, not once stopping, despite how much her lungs beg her to.

The two men stand there, baffled, watching as Castorice flees, disappearing into the crowd.

“What's up with Castorice?” Phainon shrugs. “Aglaea did mention she's been acting weird…”

Mydei hums in agreement.

“Woah. You don't think…” Phainon turns to Mydei, raising a brow. “Is Castorice actually getting blackmailed?”

“HKS,” Mydei shakes his head, grumbling. “Don't start spouting nonsense.”

★☆★☆★

The dim glow of the streetlight shines through her window from above. It illuminates her otherwise dark vehicle, allowing for her to bask in the warm light.

Castorice glances back down at the note in her trembling hands—reading it again for the hundredth time.

It was eerily different from the past letters Thief Star had sent before.

There was no snark, no…ambiguity, to their words this time. It was direct—almost like a demand—and seemed nothing like what Castorice had gathered Thief Star’s personality to be.

Perhaps it was due to their previous encounter, which made Thief Star realise the gravity of their situation. Or maybe they simply wanted to appear intimidating this time—to scare the journalist.

Either way, Castorice finds herself in her car, parked right along the street the criminal had mentioned. She's already checked the note multiple times, ensuring that she was following the instructions correctly.

Psychiko Street. Marmoreal Palace. 11p.m. She's got all the details correct.

And yet, Thief Star still isn't here.

The journalist feels her heart thumping in her chest—antsy about the upcoming interaction (or whatever you would call this ‘meet-up’). She's still rather…suspicious of the criminal’s true intentions, but after stewing in her bottled up emotions for the past few hours—Castorice had come to a conclusion: She needed to take this chance. Otherwise, she would lose a potentially valuable opportunity.

Glancing down at the time on her phone, Castorice finds that it's already a few minutes past the designated time. She looks out of the windows of her car, but finds there to be not a single soul around the shadowy streets—given that most are probably lying in the comforts of their own bed.

Castorice should have been too—but of course, she's torturing herself by chasing yet another lead on Thief Star. If they don't show up soon, it seems as though it'll be another dead lead again.

In hindsight, this whole…situation was brought on by her own doings, so the journalist can only really blame herself.

The clicking of her car door opening startles Castorice, leaving the note in her hands to be tossed carelessly onto the car floor. She stares in silence—watching as a hooded figure slides into the passenger's seat, thumping the door shut beside them. Underneath their hood, she can already see blue eyes narrow at her.

Wait, wasn't the door locked…? Castorice thinks. But her thoughts don't last long.

“C’mon what're you waiting for?” A muffled voice rings beneath the mask. They furrow their brows at Castorice—annoyed by her dazed state. “Hit the gas already!”

“Who…” Dumbfounded, Castorice finds herself asking the stranger a question. “W-Who are you?”

It's a stupid question—which Castorice realises upon uttering the sentence.

The stranger seems to agree, given that they roll their eyes at the journalist. “Who else could have told you to meet here?”

Castorice remains silent, eyeing them. It's no doubt the same person she had tackled the last time. They're still covered by their black cloak, and hiding behind an accompanying mask. With the help from the streetlight—she's able to get a better look at the upper half of their face, spotting the wisps of grey hair that begin to peek through. Yet, the remaining half is still shrouded by their mask—leaving their identity a mystery.

“Hey! Earth to Journalist Homebody…!” Thief Star suddenly exclaims, waving their hands in front of Castorice’s face. “If you don't start driving right now, we're both going to get arrested!”

That shakes Castorice out of her stupor.

She slams her foot into the gas pedal, hands flying to grip the steering wheel, as she begins to drive without any specific destination in mind—but definitely anywhere away from Psychiko Street.

This is absurd. Castorice can't even comprehend what she's gotten herself into. She shouldn't have come here. She shouldn't have listened to the note at all.

“Now that's more like it!” They declare, not bothering to buckle their seatbelt.

Castorice keeps her eyes on the road, but frowns upon hearing them speak. “What do you want?”

“Well, I want many things,” Thief Star answers vaguely. “You're gonna have to get more specific if you wanna ask questions.”

The journalist groans at their shoddy response. But, she relents, asking “...What do you want from me?”

Castorice had already thought the criminal was rather…annoying in their letters. But now that the two are actually talking face to face, Castorice doesn't think she can last another minute talking to the irksome Thief—who seems too carefree about being on the run.

It isn't everyday that she would be talking to a notorious criminal, but even then, Castorice can't even begin to decipher the raw confidence that exudes from the criminal. It seems too…natural—like as though they were born for this.

“Ah! Now that's more like it!” They grin underneath their mask. “Honestly, I just wanted to have a friendly chat with you.”

A chat? Thief Star could've arranged a proper meeting elsewhere—yet they've turned Castorice into their…what? Accomplice? Getaway driver?

“I'm but a mere journalist—I don't think I can help you with much,” Castorice mumbles, avoidant. “...Are you sure you're talking to the right person?”

Thief Star laughs, their chuckles reverberating throughout the vehicle. Even their laughter sounds too joyful—like as though Castorice had just told a joke. She doesn't think her question was funny in the first place.

“Of course I am! There's only one Journalist Homebody, isn't there?” They turn to face the journalist. “Unless you're telling me you aren't Castorice Dios—a journalist from The Flame-Chase Chronicles…?”

Her frown deepens at the answer.

“Are you seriously acting dumb right now?” The Thief huffs at her unsaid words. “Y’know, I do have a bunch more information about you if you really need me to jog your memory.”

They lean back against their seat comfortably, despite the current interaction. Lifting up their hand, they begin to list and count aloud, pointing a finger for each ‘fact’ about Castorice.

“You're 26 years old, and you've been working as a journalist for roughly…3 years? You've also recently developed a debilitating coffee addiction and…Oh!” They pause halfway, seemingly having an epiphany. “Did anyone tell you that you frown a lot—I swear you haven't smiled once since we started talking.”

At a traffic light, Castorice can only glare at the passenger who continues to ramble on and on about nonsensical facts regarding the journalist.

“...Are you done?” Her grip tightens around the steering wheel, her voice firm. “You still haven't answered my question about what exactly you want from me.”

“Yeesh, tough crowd today, huh?” They roll their eyes, but relent under Castorice’s darkening gaze, raising their hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, but I told you already, didn't I? I just thought that a nice conversation could help deepen our ongoing relationship. It's about time we took it to the next level—don't you think?”

The journalist cringes internally at their choice of words.

“Relationship? I barely know you.” Castorice scoffs. “...You stalk me and hide underneath a mask—what possible reason have you given me to trust you? To trust what you're saying?”

Her words create a kind of…suffocating tension in the cramped space that leaves both silent. Castorice immediately regrets her harsh tone, wishing that she could walk away from Thief Star, but alas, they're both stuck in this moving vehicle.

The Thief seems shocked by Castorice’s sudden outburst, considering that their eyes widen in an exaggerated manner.

“Okay, fine. Since you're technically my accomplice now…” Thief Star starts.

After a beat, they sigh dramatically, flipping off their hood and pulling down their mask—revealing their identity to the journalist.

“I guess this is only fair.”

They reach over to flip the switch powering the dome lights—brightening the interior of her car. Under the light, Castorice sees those same pair of glistening cyan eyes stare back at her—now attached with a mischievous grin that somehow fills her with a newfound sense of annoyance. Without the hood covering them, Castorice immediately notes the pair of ears that stand out on the top of her head—the same light grey as her messy hair. Her eyes unconsciously flicker down—and Castorice finds herself blushing furiously when she realises that Thief Star is, in fact, not a man like Economou had said. She glances away, focusing her eyes back on the road.

At her reaction, Thief Star lets out a snicker, but she ignores it. She's too surprised to do so.

For once, Castorice doesn't find the Thief intimidating.

She hadn't necessarily thought about what exactly they would look like, but with their full face laid bare to her, Castorice can only conclude that they're…just another person from Amphoreus—a person who you wouldn't bat an eye to if you saw them walking down the streets.

The fear that had initially haunted her now disappears, and Castorice finds it to be all for naught. If anything, it was merely just a manifestation of her overactive imagination.

“Happy now?” They (She?) grin at Castorice, which only infuriates her more.

“...I suppose so.” She mumbles.

The journalist turns a corner, deciding to park her car in an empty alleyway. It was dark, isolated—perfect for having a private conversation with someone, like in her case, a wanted criminal.

She glances out the tinted windows, but doesn't spot anything or anyone around them.

When she's confident that no one is around them, Castorice exhales, dropping her hands from the steering wheel. “Talk.”

“You're really still frowning, huh?” Thief Star chuckles, moving a hand to scratch the back of their neck. “Well, in any case—I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition…?” Castorice repeats, leaning closer to them subconsciously. She wouldn't lie and say she wasn't slightly intrigued by the statement.

“Well…since my identity was exposed after someone tackled me last week…” Castorice blushes, mumbling a quick apology. “I thought that we could work together instead.” Thief Star states. “It's beneficial to both of us, isn't it? You get to keep working on your articles, while I get a convenient mode of transport. It'll be like…like a truce!”

Castorice knits her brows, tilting her head in confusion. “You want me to help you with your…crimes?”

Castorice almost laughs at the suggestion—thinking that this was another one of Thief Star’s jokes. It's absurd after all. ‘Local Journalist Partners with Notorious Criminal?’ Only in her dreams would such a headline appear.

But when the pair of blue eyes continue to stare at her, the laughter dies in her throat.

They're serious.

“I mean if you wanna put it that way, yeah, I guess,” Thief Star shrugs—not a hint of remorse showing. “It'll be like today! I'll do my thing, and you can just wait in your car! You'll basically be a getaway driver of sorts, but…hey! In return, you'll get front row seats of me in action! It's—”

“It's illegal,” Castorice clenches her jaw, finishing the Thief’s sentence. “You're stealing from people, and you want me to be your…what? Partner in crime?”

“What? I thought you already figured it out by now.” They scoff, appalled by the journalist’s reaction. “What I'm doing isn't a crime—I'm simply seeking out justice,” Thief Star smirks, fully believing their words. “Trust me, those bigwigs will be fine—a petty theft from me is practically loose change to them!”

While Castorice has already been crossing the boundaries of what could be considered legal—between the letters from Thief Star and the fact that she has been withholding information from the authorities—she knows better than to be involved in their thefts. She doesn't want to be part of it—any of it.

It's a bit too far, especially for a journalist.

“It's still a crime,” Castorice insists curtly, almost uncharacteristically. “Just because they're rich—so what? It doesn't give you the right to steal from them.”

The ears on their head flatten as they furrow their brows at the journalist. “The rich and powerful couldn't give a damn about any of us—what I'm doing makes them pay attention; to be scared of us! Who cares if it's illegal—it's about what's right.”

“I…I don't want to be involved in any of this,” Castorice shakes her head. “If you really want change, you can do it through the right channels or real movements—not this.”

Thief Star’s eyes bore into her, as realisation dawned on their face. “You really are innocent,” they quip, the confidence in their voice fading. “...I should've known better than to trust a push-over like you.”

Castorice doesn't argue further—even if the insult makes her want to defend herself.

They stare at the journalist with a look of…disapproval? Disdain? Castorice doesn't know. She just knows that the gaze makes her stomach churn.

After a few moments, the Thief huffs. Before Castorice can say anything, they're gathering their stuff and pushing open the car door.

The door slams shut.

The thud echoes in her ears—a reminder of what has just occurred. Castorice makes no move to stop them, merely watching as they sprint off, fading away into the dark of the night.

Glancing down to the seat on her left, Castorice spots a gold coin shining mockingly at her. She doesn't pick it up, and instead lets out a heavy breath.

Her head drops forward, forehead bumping into the steering wheel. The car horn blares into the quiet night—representing all the emotions that Castorice couldn't let out at the moment.

Shit.

★☆★☆★

She hasn't seen or heard about Thief Star for around a month.

Nor has anyone else, actually.

Aside from their last encounter, there hasn't been any new reports about the Thief. It's as though they've disappeared off the face of the earth, like they didn't exist in the first place. For the most part, Okhemans saw a rare tranquility—no longer anxious at the thought of becoming Thief Star’s next victim.

But much like any trending topic, came the rumours.

For those with more wishful thinking, many had concluded that Thief Star had turned over a new leaf, giving up their life of crime; Others had theorised the Thief was merely taking a break and that it wouldn't be long before they struck again. Whatever the reason was, Castorice can only say this: It was unusual.

She doesn't see them as someone to just…give up on their crimes out of the blue. If anything, she imagines that they would plan an over the top spectacle to end their career off with a bang.

But…Castorice also doesn't want to believe that Thief Star’s sudden disappearance was because of her. It was much too big of a coincidence that Thief Star’s last break in was on the same day the two had officially met. Even if Castorice had rejected them, they'd still be able to carry on with their thefts. It's not like the journalist would have made much of a difference, considering that Thief Star hasn't been caught, even now.

And yet, they're gone.

With that said, Castorice simply decides to be grateful.

Grateful that Okhemans are no longer having their valuables stolen; Grateful that she no longer has to worry about Thief Star—and most importantly, grateful that she can finally return to her work in peace.

Work moves quickly throughout the week, but it's rather uneventful for the most part. Aside from the growing chatter about the upcoming elections as well as about Thief Star themself, work carries on as usual. Castorice replies to emails, organises interviews, and constructs her articles—basically what she's always been doing from the start.

Her mind feels light, no longer burdened by Thief Star’s antics, and so, Castorice should be grateful for this. But whenever the documents related to her articles about the Thief pop up on her screen, her eyes linger, and an inexplicable feeling—no, weight—swells in her chest.

She should feel free, and yet, she doesn't.

“...Cas?” Three voices chorus together beside her desk.

The journalist closes the tabs on her computer, spinning around in her chair.

She tilts her head in confusion, as three pairs of eyes stare back at her—with a mixture of concern and distress written on their faces.

Tribbie is the first to speak up, though her voice lacks her usual enthusiasm. “We were wondering if you were feeling alright today?”

“Thank you for your concern, but I'm doing fine,” Castorice can't help but smile at her coworkers’ worried looks. “...Did I do something that would suggest otherwise?”

“Well,” Trianne starts, but fumbles over her words. “It's just…”

“You've been hiding from everyone this week,” Trinnon finishes her sentence calmly. “We know you like being alone, but it feels like you're…pulling away from everyone.”

Castorice opens her mouth, wanting to brush it off, but they continue.

Tribbie nods. “You're acting like how you were at that time—”

“Truly, I'm fine,” Castorice snaps, finally.

The words come out harsher than she had intended them to be. Seeing the stunned looks on her coworkers’ faces, makes Castorice shrink back in her chair—ashamed.

“I'm…sorry,” Castorice mumbles, her voice now quiet.

They turn to look at each other, before Tribbie speaks up again. “We just hope you'll come to any of us whenever you're troubled.”

Castorice sighs. “...Thank you.”

They leave, and Castorice closes her laptop, slumping over at her desk.

Even though she's not in contact with Thief Star anymore, it seems as though their presence has left a residual effect on the journalist—her outburst just the first of many.

Still. There's no point in mulling over it now, because how else can Castorice find the Thief again? They didn't leave her with any mode of contact. If anything, contacting them would probably give her an even bigger headache, and they're definitely not worth the trouble.

Castorice leaves work early that day, deciding that one night of good rest would be enough to resolve her mixed emotions.

When she's home, she doesn't bother with continuing any of her articles.

After washing up, she immediately sinks into the warmth of her bed, the mattress sinking beneath her weight. Once she's settled in, she reaches for her spare pillow, hugging it tightly. As her lamp flickers off, her room is bathed only by a soft ray of moonlight that slips through her window. In such a comfortable setting, it's only moments before her eyes flutter shut—the hectic moments of her life eventually slipping away.

Sleep comes easily to Castorice, but this time, it's barely peaceful, and much more restless.

She dreams of many things—from fleeting childhood memories…to her sister. It's rare for her to dream of such things, but they provide a sense of comfort and warmth nonetheless. Eventually, glimpses of those innocent moments fade away, morphing into something entirely…contradicting.

Blue eyes appear. They're bright, like the vast sky on a sunny day, like a shimmering gemstone found on a ring, or perhaps even like the clear blue waters only found in Styxia. They're all comforting things, and yet the pair of eyes make Castorice feel nothing but threatened. They bore into her, staring into the depths of her own eyes, as though picking apart every single detail about the journalist. It feels all too real, that Castorice is beginning to wonder whether this was all a dream—or the start of a nightmare.

“Hey.”

A voice appears, and Castorice isn't sure whether it's from her imagination.

Her eyes blink open, only to see those same blue eyes stare back at her—seemingly directly above her.

W-Who?! Her thoughts are jumbled, having just awoken.

She immediately flies up right on her bed, flicking on her lamp and reaching for anything to defend herself on her nightstand. The eyes retreat into a corner, their owner’s shadow growing tall, and Castorice feels her heart race—breath audible and shaky. Her grip tightens around the object, pointing it at the intruder.

“I don't really think that's gonna do much in defending yourself, Journalist Homebody,” the voice says.

It takes a moment for Castorice to register who the intruder is.

It's Thief Star.

Her eyes flicker down to the object in her hand—an unlit candle. A part of her wants to throw it at them out of spite, but she doesn't. Reluctantly, Castorice places it back in the drawer, pulling her blanket closer to wrap around herself.

“...Why are you here?” Castorice questions, her tone sharp. Frankly, she isn't in the mood for any of their tricks—not that she can recall a time she has.

She narrows her eyes at the Thief standing in the corner of her room. They're in their usual get-up, dressed in black, but this time, they've decided to forgo the mask.

“Just dropping by for a visit,” they shrug, looking around the room.

Castorice watches as they pace around her room, stopping at her bookshelf.

Their eyes seem to scan the various books packed together on the shelf, before picking one up to read its cover.

“You've got quite the interesting collection here,” Thief Star merely says, eyes flickering across the words on the cover. “...‘My Professor Can't Possibly Be This Sh—’”

Her face heats up, and Castorice practically leaps out of her bed, snatching the book away from the Thief.

“D-Don't touch my stuff—!” Castorice huffs, sliding the book back onto its shelf.

Despite their one month hiatus, it seems as though Thief Star continues to be as annoying as ever. She crosses her arms, waiting for them to explain.

“Fine, fine. I was just admiring your collection, y’know? Nothing wrong with that,” They sigh, shaking their head. “Anyways…let's go!”

Castorice watches in caution as they walk away from the bookshelf and out of her bedroom. Their tail, that Castorice now notices, flicks behind them as they do.

“...To where?” Castorice murmurs, a yawn escaping her. She follows after them reluctantly—not trusting the Thief to keep their hands to themself.

They ignore her, walking into her living room.

“Now, where are your…?” They begin, digging through a bowl left on her shoe cabinet.

“Will you please stop touching my stuff?” Castorice sighs. She rubs her weary eyes, standing idly in the living room.

“...Ahah!” They exclaim, pulling out a set of keys. “Here, catch.”

The keys glide in the air, zooming towards the journalist.

Instinctively, Castorice scrambles forward, hands reaching out to catch the flying object. Despite her drowsiness from just being awoken, the keys manage to land in her hands with a click, although narrowly. She looks down and notes it to be her car keys.

Castorice tilts her head in confusion, staring at Thief Star in a silent question.

“I'm bringing you somewhere,” Thief Star says.

“...What makes you think I would want to follow you?” She frowns.

Thief Star laughs at this—of course they do.

“Well, you haven't exactly ratted me out to the police yet,” They claim, tail wagging low behind them. “So I'm guessing some part of you is still curious about me. Am I right?”

“...I'm not curious,” Castorice insists.

“Did anybody tell you you're a terrible liar?” Thief Star points at the journalist, accusing. “Look, I'm not forcing you to come with me or anything—I'm merely…offering to show you the ‘truth’.” They suggest. “...If you really don't want me here, just say the word—I'll be gone quicker than you can say ‘Journalist Homebody’!”

Truth? What truth could Thief Star possibly be hiding?

It's an obvious answer for Castorice to give.

No.

One word, and she wouldn't have to deal with the troublesome Thief anymore. That was all it took. But like time and time again, declining the offer was easier said than done. Castorice hesitates, her suspicion shifting towards curiosity.

“So…?” They ask in a sing-song tone. “What's your answer, Journalist Homebody?”

Castorice closes her eyes, letting out a long breath. Her hand clenches around the car keys. After a beat, she opens her eyes, glancing at the Thief—the words already on the tip of her tongue.

Curse her curiosity…

“...Lead the way.”

Thief Star seems satisfied with the answer, from the way their ears perk up, standing tall.

That would explain how the two end up in Castorice’s car, with Thief Star directing the journalist on where to go.

The journey is both quick and peaceful, given that the Thief had refrained from making any jokes that would cause Castorice to want to crash her car. Eventually, after crossing through the various districts of Okhema, they end up at an apartment complex.

Chipped bricks lining the walls, rusted railings bordering windows, and peeling paint are the first few things that Castorice notices. Given that it's the middle of the night, no light shines from the windows—the occupants most probably asleep.

It's safe to say that the building has seen better days.

While the journalist isn't necessarily one to judge, the building reminds her of one of those houses from a cliché horror movie. It doesn't help that there's not a soul in sight and that they're swamped in darkness.

Castorice follows the Thief into the building. Her hand reaches across to grip onto her upper arm—in an attempt to reassure herself.

It doesn't really help.

When they've climbed the stairs to the third floor, Thief Star makes a beeline towards a door on their left. Castorice walks quietly behind, shivering at the silence.

They jam their key into the lock, and after they grumble a few times, the door unlocks with a click.

“Ah, home sweet home!” Thief Star exclaims, flinging their door open.

Castorice hurries in upon their gesturing, and hears the door click shut behind her.

“You…live here?” Castorice mumbles, surprised. She hadn't thought the Thief would bring her to their apartment of all places.

“Did I not just say that?” They deadpan, strolling deeper into the apartment. “I'm starting to think you're still asleep.”

Castorice lingers at the doorway, taking in the sight before her.

It's rather messy—which is actually perfectly fitting for the Thief. But, it's also a quaint apartment, that has an odd sort of homey vibe to it.

The journalist takes a cautious step in, and her eyes now glance towards the kitchen—where she notes papers plastered on the fridge. It's filled to the brim with colourful drawings of flowers, animals, and many other things that Castorice can't make out. Scribbles of words are also present—and Castorice finds these drawings to have a certain charm to them that she can't quite describe.

“I take it you're a fan of the decor?” Thief Star somehow appears right beside the journalist, tapping her shoulder.

“It's…cute,” Castorice merely hums.

“A bunch of the kids in the building drew them for me,” they say, a faint smile crawling on their face. “Practically begged me to hang them up in my home. You should've seen the look on their faces when I did—it was priceless!”

Castorice attempts to hide her amusement. This side of Thief Star was certainly…unexpected.

“Uhm,” she clears her throat, looking at the Thief. They need to get back to the topic at hand, after all. “If I recall…you said you wanted to show me the ‘truth’?”

“You really have no patience, huh?” They say. “Just give me a sec, will you?”

Thief Star disappears into a dark room, leaving Castorice to stand awkwardly in their kitchen. When they return, they're dragging along a board, its wheels creaking with every step Thief Star makes.

They leave it in the middle of their living room, and stand in front of it—as though admiring their own work.

Castorice steps forward to take a closer look, analysing the contents of the board.

“Is this…supposed to represent your ‘accomplishments’?” She whispers.

Pictures alongside names are the first things that stand out to her. Sebastian Economou, Nico Galanis, Apollonia Callas—they're all names Castorice recognises to be Thief Star’s victims. Their pictures are carefully pinned on the map of Okhema pasted on the board. They're also accompanied by a familiar scribble of different words—‘fraud, bribery, embezzlement’—as though listing out each individual’s crimes.

“In a way, yes,” Thief Star shrugs. “But use that brain of yours and think deeper, Journalist Homebody,” they say. “You're sooo close to figuring it out! You literally even wrote an article discussing it—don't tell me you really can't guess?”

It's only then that Castorice realises the true meaning behind the board.

She turns to face Thief Star, mouth agape. “You're a vigilante.”

Sure, Castorice had considered such a possibility, but she hadn't really expected it. Saying it out loud makes it feel all too real.

“Bingo!” They exclaim, pointing finger guns at the journalist. “I personally prefer being called a ‘phantom thief’, but ‘vigilante’ works as well.”

Thief Star moves towards the board, adjusting the pictures and notes on it. Castorice merely backs away, appalled.

In hindsight, such a truth was obvious. Thinking back, Castorice realises how oblivious she was, considering the fact that Thief Star themselves had signed off as ‘Kitty Phantom Thief’ in their letters. It would also explain why Thief Star has been targeting these notorious individuals. It seems all too clear for the journalist now, and she's regretting how she's handled their previous interactions.

She knows what she has to do now—even if it's in a way, hypocritical.

“Thief Star.” She clenches her fists, nails biting into the palm of her hand, calling out.

“That's such a lame name,” they turn around, rolling their eyes. “Must you really insist on calling me that, Journalist Homebody?”

“You…never told me your name,” Castorice admits, her cheeks growing warm. “And ‘Kitty Phantom Thief’ is a bit too…”

Thief Star chuckles at the embarrassed journalist, huffing.

“Cipher.” They state.

“Huh?” Castorice tilts her head.

“You can call me Cipher,” Thief Star—well, Cipher—flashes their usual grin. “It's sharp and swift, like the wind itself. A perfect name for a master thief, don't you think?”

Castorice nods in agreement. After a beat, she extends her hand towards Cipher. “Castorice.”

Cipher stares at the hand for a moment, before bursting out into laughter and returning the journalist’s handshake.

“I know,” Cipher smirks. “You're really something—you know, that?”

Castorice can only blush, mortified by her own lacking social skills.

Cipher’s grip is firm, giving the journalist the courage to get back on topic—their original conversation. It's been delayed for a month by now, after all.

“...I can't promise I'll be good at it, but I'll do it,” Castorice states, pausing the handshake. There's no turning back now. “I'll work with you.”

Cipher’s smile widens, ears pointing up.

“I've been waiting to hear those words!” the Thief shakes Castorice’s hand even harder. “Y’know, I think we're really going to work well together, Journalist Homebody.”

“I would prefer it if you could just stick with my name…?” Her lips quiver into a slight smile, hopeful.

“No can do, Journalist Homebody,” Cipher shakes their head, reveling in Castorice’s embarrassment.

The journalist can only laugh awkwardly—wondering whether she's just made a deal she'll come to regret.

★☆★☆★

The Month of Mourning rolls around, and with it, rain.

It's fitting of course, given that it's a month of grave somberness—one dedicated to mourning and prayer for those who have passed.

The rain hammers against her car windows, splattering onto the surface with each drop, before cascading down into uneven trails. The pitter-patter of it feels oddly calming, despite the raging storm happening just outside.

Castorice drums her fingers against the steering wheel, staring off into the distance as she waits.

Just a few months ago, the journalist would have never imagined herself in such a situation. But now, it's practically a part of her schedule—a routine she follows throughout the week.

It's been about a month since Castorice started ‘working’ with Cipher—a.k.a. Thief Star—and she has to say that it's been rather…easygoing for the most part. While Cipher did her ‘thing’, Castorice would wait in her car, before driving the both of them away. She's been able to get more insights into the Thief, and get more content for her articles, which is all Castorice could ask for. She dismisses any feelings of guilt.

Of course, Castorice does have to be careful about what she writes, considering how any slip-up could incriminate her along with Cipher. Thankfully though, it didn't seem like Okhema’s police division had any knowledge about Thief Star having a getaway driver—leaving Castorice relieved.

She isn't necessarily sure how they've gotten away with it thus far. Perhaps it's due to Cipher’s unbelievable stealth skills? The thought simmers in her mind as she waits patiently.

Her car door clicks open, and Castorice turns to greet the passenger.

“Ugh, I really hate rainy days…” Cipher grumbles, settling into the seat beside Castorice.

Cipher is soaked from head to toe, droplets of water splattering about as she rips off her mask. Even her tail isn't safe, by how it drips water from the tip as it flicks around. Castorice can already see the moisture seeping into the car seat below the Thief.

It would probably dry. Right?

“I thought you were joking about that,” Castorice says, a chuckle escaping her. There's something amusing about watching a master thief frowning and complaining like a wet cat. “You're really like a…cat.”

Cipher’s frown deepens. Flipping off her hood, she shakes vigorously, sending water droplets flying—even towards Castorice.

“H-hey!” Castorice exclaims—not from annoyance, but amusement—lifting an arm up to shield herself from Cipher’s ‘attack’. It doesn't really help.

“There, now we're both wet,” Cipher smirks.

Castorice rolls her eyes, right before narrowing them at the Thief, waiting. Under her gaze, Cipher eventually groans and begrudgingly buckles her seat belt.

When the journalist is satisfied, she steps on the gas pedal, driving away.

“I don't get the big deal about wearing a seat belt,” Cipher grumbles, pulling on said seat belt to loosen it. “It's a short drive, and there's barely any other cars on the road.”

“You may be content with breaking the laws, but I believe that safety is still important,” Castorice comments. “Even ‘Thief Star’ won't be spared from injuries if we get into an accident.”

“You’re really such a goody-two-shoes, aren't you, Journalist Homebody?” Cipher huffs, amused. “I can't believe I've now turned you into a…a criminal!”

Though her words make their situation even more clear to Castorice, she doesn't feel burdened by it—knowing that Cipher had meant it as a mere joke. She simply smiles, grateful that her and Cipher could get along this well.

While they've only known each other for just over a month, Castorice would like to consider her relationship with Cipher to be something nearing friendship.

Or at the very least, acquaintances with mutual respect.

It's weird, isn't it? Wanting to be friends with someone who breaks the law? To help them do it?

But it's long past the time that Castorice can feel remorse or guilt for her actions. It's been her decision to help Cipher from the start, and so, the journalist can only keep her word—even if the thought about getting caught still haunts her.

“Remind me again,” Castorice says. “Whose house were you at this time…?”

“Cassondra Georgatou—y’know, that woman running a sham fortune-telling business,” Cipher answers. “She didn't really have much laying around though. I could only snag a box of her jewellery.”

“I see,” Castorice hums. “Are you going to pawn them off again?”

“Eh, probably,” Cipher shrugs. “What about you? Have you started working on your next article?”

The journalist ponders for a moment, before replying. “It's a…work in progress.”

The blinker of the car clicks in the momentary silence. The Thief leans back against her seat, hands folded behind her head in comfort. Castorice’s gaze flickers to her just as quickly as she turns to focus on the road ahead.

“...Hey, you should come hang out at my place!” Cipher quips. “If you're free, that is.”

Castorice raises a brow at this. She's been to Cipher’s place once—a single time—when the Thief had brought her there that fateful night. Apart from that sole occurrence, Cipher hasn't invited Castorice again. She would merely drop Cipher off at her home, before driving back to her own. They've also been exclusively contacting each other online, or from the odd letter Cipher would send every now and then—so there's been no need for Castorice to visit. Moreover, Cipher isn't asking to discuss matters about ‘Thief Star’, but rather, wanting to ‘hang out’ at her apartment?

Perhaps Cipher…also considers her a friend?

“Is there any particular reason you're ‘inviting’ me to your house?” Castorice asks, curious.

“To celebrate!” Cipher exclaims, shooting up from her seat. Water splashes. “It's your 10th official ‘get-away-drive’!”

“...Is that really something to celebrate?” Castorice murmurs, but smiles—her tone contradicting her expression.

“Of course it is! It's a big milestone for an amateur.” Cipher says. “Besides, you've been working a lot lately—I swear, Journalist Homebody, the circles under your eyes have darkened drastically just this past month.”

“You're exaggerating,” Castorice merely says, hands overlapping one another to steer the car.

“I'm being honest,” Cipher smirks, leaning closer towards the journalist.

Her eyes flicker down to the clock on her dashboard, noting it to be already past midnight. Truthfully, Castorice knows that she should turn down Cipher’s invitation. It's way too late, and Castorice has to work the following day. Still, a part of her feels compelled to accept the invite.

“So, what will it be, Journalist Homebody? Are you coming or not?”

Instead of refusing, Castorice finds herself readily agreeing to the proposal instead. “...Just for a while.”

The journalist doesn't manage to hide the excitement peeking through her monotonous statement. On the other hand, Cipher’s eyes lit up—most likely feeling the same way she does.

The drive is over just as fast as it started.

Cipher swings the door to her apartment carelessly, ushering in a nervous Castorice who silently follows behind.

“Feel free to sit wherever you like,” the Thief says nonchalantly. She throws her still-soaked cloak into a basket by the door, walking toward the small kitchen deeper in the apartment.

Castorice heeds Cipher’s words, awkwardly settling herself on a seat at the kitchen island. She does a quick survey of her surroundings—finding Cipher’s apartment to be exactly how it looked the last time she was here.

“Want anything to drink?” Cipher swerves around to the fridge, pulling it open. She bends down, scanning its contents—the light from the fridge illuminating the room. “I have uhh…SoulGlad?”

“I have to drive later,” Castorice answers, fingers drumming themselves on the counter.

Cipher scratches her head, turning around to look at Castorice. The corners of her lips tilt up slightly. “Water then?”

“Water is fine,” Castorice nods rigidly. “Thank you.”

The journalist sits with her back straight as she watches Cipher fill two cups with water before sliding them across the counter towards her. In a stiff motion, Castorice graciously accepts the drink.

“What's up with you, Journalist Homebody?” Cipher comments, hopping into the seat across from Castorice. “You look like a statue.”

It's not like Castorice is still uncomfortable being around Cipher—her fear of ‘Thief Star’ already long gone—but rather, she doesn't know where this conversation is going.

“S-sorry, it's just…” Castorice stutters. “You've never invited me over before…?”

“Relax, will you?” Cipher huffs. “We're here to celebrate! I don't have any tricks up my sleeve this time.”

Castorice slumps slightly, exhaling. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

The Thief laughs at the comment. Castorice’s lips quiver into a smile upon seeing this. After a moment, Cipher raises her glass towards the journalist.

“Cheers,” she says.

Castorice follows her, clinking their cups together. She's pretty sure water doesn't necessitate the action, but she does it regardless. “...Cheers.”

With Cipher’s casual disposition, her unease seeps away, and the two eventually fall into mundane conversation. There isn't any specific topic or discussion, and instead, they talk about a multitude of things. From their home towns to their hobbies—and many other random facts. To any bystanders, the two would probably resemble old friends catching up.

A simple moment like this somehow fills Castorice with a warmth that blossoms from her chest. Seeing Cipher smile, hearing her teases, listening to her share more about her life—Castorice feels things like annoyance, entertainment and interest.

But most notably, she feels…alive?

It's not a foreign feeling, but rare nonetheless. It's odd how Cipher of all people had managed to invoke such a feeling in her, but Castorice isn't complaining. Phainon had said she needed to make new friends after all.

“I've been meaning to ask…” Castorice clears her throat, steering their conversation into a new direction. “Why exactly do you call me that?”

“Call you what?” Cipher raises a brow. “You mean ‘Journalist Homebody’?”

“You've been referring to me as that since we first met,” the journalist nods. “Even before we met, you addressed your letters to ‘Journalist Homebody’. I was merely wondering why.”

“Haven't you ever had a nickname before?” Cipher shrugs.

“I have…but people would usually shorten my name. ‘Journalist Homebody’ is quite the mouthful, is it not?”

“Well it's fitting isn't it?”

“...How so?” Castorice finds herself asking, even if she could probably deduce the meaning of the nickname.

Cipher leans back on her chair, raising her index finger. “Firstly, you're ‘Journalist Homebody’ because you're, well, obviously a journalist,” Cipher remarks, before raising another finger. “Secondly, you're also ‘Journalist Homebody’, because I swear you're always either at work or at home.”

She's heard similar comments before, so Castorice can only roll her eyes at the Thief. “Hey…Didn't you also say I went to cafés as well? Do they not count?”

“Sure Journalist Homebody, if that makes you feel any better,” Cipher chuckles.

Castorice laughs as well, and finds herself wanting to share more. She takes the cup into her hands, sipping on it.

“I… actually used to go out more,” Castorice confesses. “My sister would always complain that we stayed home too much. She would drag me out of the house to go on walks with her. It was…nice, even if I was swamped with work.”

“Oh? And here I thought I knew everything about Journalist Homebody,” Cipher gasps dramatically. “I didn't know you have a sister.”

Have. Castorice freezes at the comment. Of course Cipher wouldn't have known. It had been over a year since…

Her fingers clench around the cup in her hands. She feels the coldness looming around her, but seeing Cipher tilting her head in genuine curiosity—Castorice relents. She feels…safe enough around the Thief to do so.

“Her name is Polyxia—my twin sister.” Castorice pauses. After a moment, she adds. “She…passed last year.”

Castorice had mumbled the words in a low tone, but she realises how loud they actually were amongst the silence in Cipher’s apartment. Cipher seems speechless, but she sits upright immediately—attention fully focused on the woman in front of her.

“Oh…I'm sorry,” Cipher says, ears dropping against her head. “I didn't mean to—”

“No, no, I'm sorry,” Castorice interjects. “...I ruined the mood, didn't I? I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable and I'm sorry if—”

Her eyes lower to the cup in her hands, not wanting to look Cipher in the eye. This time, Cipher cuts her off.

“Hey, hey, calm down, would you? Geez.” Cipher hushes. A hand reaches out to grasp Castorice’s, who looks up in surprise. “You don't have to apologise, you didn't do anything wrong, okay?”

Cipher squeezes her hand, offering a smile that Castorice can only decipher as…sincere.

Her breath catches, and she doesn't know what to say—how to respond—to the sudden softness that Cipher is currently displaying.

“Why don't I come up with a new nickname for you?” Cipher spontaneously suggests.

“Huh?”

“What about ‘Journalist Workaholic’? Nah, doesn't really roll off the tongue.”

“You could just use my actual name…”

“Maybe ‘Kitchen Slayer’…?”

“...How did you even come up with that?”

“Oh! I know!” Cipher exclaims. “‘Princess’.”

Castorice instantly feels her face heat up. Cipher was teasing her again, she realises. She retracts her hand from Cipher’s grasps—embarrassed. Still, she's thankful for the Thief’s sly attempts to cheer her up.

“Maybe Journalist Homebody isn't that bad after all…” Castorice murmurs, looking away from Cipher.

“We could combine it then!” Cipher persists. “Y’know, like…‘Princess Homebody’—that actually sounds like a great name, don't you think?”

Despite her persistent blush, Castorice laughs. She's pretty sure Cipher is drinking water and not SoulGlad, but perhaps Cipher just naturally says nonsensical things . “Ugh, you're incorrigible…”

“What did you just say?” Cipher pretends, but Castorice can already see that sly smile peeking through.

“It's…nothing,” Castorice sighs, but finds herself smiling too. She's starting to think that happens a bit too often now.

From there, their conversations slowly die down, and one glance at the clock reminds Castorice that she has to go home. She's already stayed longer than she had originally planned to—carried away by mindless chatter with Cipher—and she still has to wake up early for work tomorrow.

“You're free to come back some other time,” Cipher remarks.

The Thief’s arms are crossed as she leans against the frame of the wooden door. Castorice awkwardly has her hands in front of her as she stands just outside of Cipher’s apartment.

“...Thank you,” Castorice says, nodding her head. “I enjoyed talking to you.”

Cipher’s ears perk up, and the journalist spots her tail wagging behind her. It doesn't seem as though Cipher had noticed. “Same here, Journalist Homebody.”

Castorice feels like she should say something more, but she doesn't. Neither does Cipher.

Nonetheless, after bidding farewell to Cipher, Castorice drives home. By the time she reaches her abode, it's barely a few hours before she usually gets up for work. Still, she tucks herself into bed—finding sleep to come easy, her mind and body lighter.

★☆★☆★

~~~

Cipher (11:37 a.m.): journalist homebody

Cipher (11:37 a.m.): journalist homebody

Cipher (11:37 a.m.): princess homebody

You (11:42 a.m.): ?

Cipher (11:42 a.m.): lets meet up!

Cipher (11:42 a.m.): i wanna discuss some stuff

You (11:42 a.m.): It's busy at work today, so I don't think I'll be able to come over.

You (11:43 a.m.): ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)

Cipher (11:43 a.m.): dont worry, ill come find you instead

You (11:45 a.m.): Is it something very important?

You (11:45 a.m.): We could just talk over text.

Cipher (11:46 a.m.): its very important!

Cipher (11:46 a.m.): too important to tell you over text!!!

Cipher (11:46 a.m.): its super serious stuff okay???

You (11:47 a.m.): Are you exaggerating again…?

You (11:47 a.m.): Anyway, I get off work at 5 p.m. today, if you truly have something urgent to tell me.

Cipher (11:47 a.m.): cool

Cipher (11:47 a.m.): ill wait in your house then

You (11:48 a.m.): In my house? Don't you mean outside my house?

Cipher (11:48 a.m.): nah im pretty sure i know my prepositions

You (11:49 a.m.): You aren't planning on breaking into my home again, right?

You (11:56 a.m.): Cipher.

You (12:06 p.m.): (╥﹏╥)

~~~

“Councillor Caenis?”

Castorice lets the name simmer in her mind, recollecting everything she knows about the woman. The name feels foreign on her tongue, and saying it out loud simply makes her feel even more skeptical.

“What?” Cipher says, her tone amused. She lets her papers scatter across the coffee table. “Can't believe it?”

“No, it's just…” Castorice begins, still processing the theory Cipher has just laid out for her.

Frankly, this wasn't exactly what Castorice had in mind when Cipher had mentioned discussing ‘something important’.

Still, Castorice isn't entirely surprised…?

Caenis has long been a notable politician within Okhema—having been one of the council’s longstanding members. In fact, she's become the talk of the town as of late, given the city’s upcoming elections to elect the next head of the Council.

She has always faced criticism for her ‘conservative’ and seemingly ‘pro-rich’ policies, despite promises for a more united Okhema. So hearing that perhaps Caenis is not as entirely ‘truthful’ as she claims to be…isn't a shock to Castorice.

She's more so curious as to how Cipher is going to back up her own theory.

“...Do you have any solid evidence?” Castorice asks. “You explained your theory, but is there any proof that Caenis has actually done what you claimed?”

“Uhh, no, not really—I was kinda hoping you wouldn't say that,” Cipher laughs nervously. She stands up abruptly when she notices the skeptical look on the journalist’s face. “But…we can get proof!”

“How exactly?” Castorice questions. “I would prefer if you refrained from breaking into Councillor Caenis’s home before actually knowing if she's ‘corrupt’ or not…”

Cipher frowns at Castorice for a moment. Her ears fold down as she tilts her head in supposed realisation.

“You don't trust me.” Cipher observes, watching the journalist’s reaction.

Castorice freezes at the accusation. A part of her wonders if this is another one of Cipher’s teases or she's actually serious this time. She sighs at the upset expression plastered on the Thief’s face.

“Of course I trust you,” Castorice declares. Her voice doesn't waver because it's not a lie—Castorice does trust Cipher. “I trust you and your instincts. I simply want us to be sure before we do anything rash.”

She watches as Cipher bursts out into laughter. Castorice furrows her brows, annoyed that she's fallen for yet another one of Cipher’s class acts.

“Geez, there's no need for you to be so uptight Journalist Homebody—I wasn't that serious,” Cipher beams. “Though, to answer your question…I was thinking something along the lines of ‘searching through her office’...?”

Castorice rolls her eyes at the suggestion. Perhaps it's about time she grew used to Cipher’s ‘not-so-legal’ suggestions. “Isn't that still considered breaking in?”

“Well, I'll just take a look around—I won't even steal anything,” Cipher says. “Trust me. She won't even know I was there!” She finally flops back down to her seat on the floor, not bothering to pick up the scattered papers laying around her. “All I need is an appropriate time to do so…”

“The debate for the elections is next week,” Castorice perks up, the gears churning in her head. “The offices at Dawncloud will probably be empty since everyone will head to the courtyard instead…”

“Now this is why I like you, Journalist Homebody,” Cipher says nonchalantly. Castorice ignores the way her heart picks up its pace at a specific word. “You could've just suggested I go at night, but instead, you picked the more thrilling option.”

Looking back, Castorice probably should have suggested that Cipher go at night. But somehow, the debate was the first thing that came to mind. It doesn't matter. Seeing the excited look on the Thief’s face, Castorice knows there's no changing her mind now.

“I could try to attend the debate, and we could meet afterwards,” Castorice mentions. “I'll also do some legal research on Councillor Caenis as well.”

“That sounds like a plan!” Cipher exclaims. “I guess that's all I have to tell you for now.”

Cipher is somehow fully on the floor now, lying down with her hands supporting her head. Castorice stares vaguely for a while, before redirecting her gaze to the time on her phone.

It's still early. They both have nothing to do right now. An idea pops into her head. And so, Castorice does something that would shock the ‘Castorice’ from a few months ago.

“Would you want to…stay for a while?” The journalist randomly asks. She adds in a softer voice, “to ‘hang out’...?”

The speed at which Cipher shoots up startles Castorice. Combined with the intense scrutiny that the Thief is currently giving her, Castorice begins to feel self conscious—regretting ever suggesting the idea.

“Uhm, y-you can say no,” she shrinks back into her seat on the sofa, darting her gaze away. Cipher continues to stare—eyes boring into Castorice. “I just thought that since last time you invited me, I would just suggest it this time…and, uh—!”

“Sure,” Cipher cuts her rambling short with just one word. Castorice heaves a sigh of relief. “If you wanted to hang out that bad, you could've just said so!”

Castorice ignores the jab and finds herself smiling. How long has it been since anyone else has stepped foot into her home? How long has it been since she's last invited someone to hang out at her place?

There are hundreds of other questions that Castorice could pose. But for now, she decides to come to one conclusion: Cipher has made her life…well, livelier, for lack of a better word.

Whatever dull worries about work, thoughts about Cipher (that will never be said out loud), or even theories about corrupt politicians, Castorice lets them sit in the back of her mind—focusing on the vibrant present.

★☆★☆★

Castorice finds herself feeling out of place.

The forecourt at Dawncloud is brimming with people. Camera operators scramble to do their last minute checks before broadcasting. Photographers begin scoping out the best venues for clear shots. Journalists from various news outlets chattering away—discussing possible headlines and topics that could come out during the debate.

Simply put, it's chaotic.

Despite the forecourt being an open area, the hushed whispers and obnoxious laughter of reporters have amalgamated into a loud bustle—that Castorice can barely hear her own thoughts

She stands awkwardly to one side, glancing between the still empty stage and her silent coworker beside her.

While Castorice initially wasn't meant to attend the debate, she had ended up there out of pure luck. For some reason, Aglaea wanted to send one more person out to the debate, and so, Castorice had immediately volunteered. Aglaea had given her a questionable look, confused by Castorice’s sudden enthusiasm, but still sent her anyway, leaving Castorice to now regret her decision.

She's never been a fan of attending such large scale events. Nor was she entirely keen on spending a few hours beside her senior at work, Cerydra. The woman was full of wisdom and many insights, sure, but Castorice and Cerydra have never been too…talkative with one another. The silence between the two of them now, was practically deafening.

And so, Castorice resigns herself to her fate, pulling out her phone to pass the time.

In hindsight, Castorice didn't necessarily need to attend the debate. She's sure Cipher is more than capable of handling any issues (if they ever were to occur), and could probably out-run security if needed. But a part of her still wants to be nearby, in case anything else went wrong.

Swiping through her messages, Castorice notes a new text from Cipher, telling the journalist that she would ‘infiltrate’ Caenis’s office in a few minutes. She sends a thumbs-up emoji in response, praying that it will all go well.

Eventually, the journalists and other reporters are all called to take their seats, given that the debate is about to start.

The two coworkers find their designated seats, and much like the rest of the crowd, their murmurs soon crumbling into silence.

“Please welcome on stage the incumbent Council Head—Councillor Caenis—and Council Head Candidate—Eacus.”

The announcement is heard. Flashes and clicking of cameras follow. Castorice watches as the two candidates step forward to the middle of the forecourt, standing at their respective podiums.

Councillor Caenis looks just like how Castorice remembers—stern and smug. While the journalist has never been that approving of the Councillor and her methods, she can't help but see her in a different light as of late. Since Cipher brought it up, Castorice has done some research, scanning through documents and reports—noting too many inconsistencies to be a coincidence. While she hasn't pinpointed the exact cause, a warped feeling gnaws away at her gut whenever she looks—or even thinks—at Caenis.

She can't see this ‘esteemed’ Council Head the same way anymore.

Meanwhile, her opponent, Eacus, is someone Castorice hasn't heard much of. Having recently become Head of the opposition in Okhema, this is practically his first time going against Caenis’s Council of Elders. While the opposition has been growing in popularity, Castorice isn't too hopeful that they could win. Despite how composed Eacus was trying to be, Castorice could sense the nervousness that radiated off of him—especially when he turns to look his opponent in the eye.

Her thoughts refocus on the matter at hand. The debate starts off without a hitch with set questions being posed.

Eacus answers matter-of-factly, laying down common causes of concern among Okhemans. Caenis responds in her usual composed manner, with charisma that has no doubt helped her secure her current seat in the council. But when Eacus manages to send a few ‘jabs’ towards Caenis, the Council Head grows furious, sending snide remarks in return.

“Pft, It's always so easy to draw out her true colours…” Castorice hears Cerydra murmur beside her.

“What do you mean?” Castorice whispers, eyes still glued to the stage of the debate.

“As journalists, we have to remain unbiased. But if you were to ask me…Caenis isn't what she seems,” Cerydra states. “She's charismatic enough to charm voters, instilling hope for a ‘better Okhema’ as she puts it. However in reality, she's merely doing nothing but spouting empty promises and under the table deals for a big paycheck.”

“Under the table deals?” Castorice repeats in a hushed voice. “You mean Caenis is—”

“It's merely a suspicion,” Cerydra replies nonchalantly. She huffs again when Caenis begins to rant about her own ‘successes’.

Whether it's biased information or the actual truth, Castorice keeps it in the back of her mind—just in case.

Ultimately, it becomes a heated debate, with the previously composed candidates now firing out their answers and rebuttals. The break starts, giving the candidates time to rest before the next segment of the debate. While other journalists are scribbling down key points of the debate, Castorice excuses herself to leave the fore court. She's thankful Cerydra doesn't ask any questions.

Walking briskly out the fore court and into the halls of Dawncloud, she whips out her phone—only to feel her heart drop. She frowns at the lack of notifications on her home screen.

Cipher hasn't replied yet.

It's been over 30 minutes since Cipher mentioned going into Caenis’s office, and yet, the Thief still hasn't mentioned escaping. Cipher had boasted that she'd be in and out in ‘15 minutes, tops!’, and yet, the unsent messages explain otherwise. Castorice sends a new message: ‘Where are you?’, followed by ‘Are you safe?’

A minute passes by. Two. Her messages are left unread. Something is wrong—Castorice instantly thinks.

In the most optimistic situation, maybe Cipher was simply not using her phone? Or perhaps she was safe, but not out yet? In the worst possible situation, maybe Cipher got caught. And all of their misdeeds would be exposed. Or maybe even—

Castorice swallows the thoughts down harshly. She looks to her left, then right, and finds the halls of Dawncloud to be empty. Practically spotless. As though no one has stepped foot here before.

Gritting her teeth and shoving her phone back into her pocket, Castorice makes a beeline towards Caenis’s office. She just can't help worrying.

When she's in front of the office, it's eerily silent. Only when Castorice leans closer, placing an ear on the door, does she hear the subtle sounds of someone rummaging through items.

“Cipher?” Castorice whispers, hoping it's loud enough for Thief to hear and soft enough to not expose herself. She knocks on the door once to alert the occupant.

For a split second, the sounds stop. Castorice takes a step back—thinking that the locked door may open any time soon. But the door doesn't budge.

Instead, footsteps appear from behind her. They're getting louder by the second, approaching fast. Instantly, Castorice spins around, locking eyes with a certain individual. Her eyes widen, palms growing clammy.

I should run. The thought surfaces. I should run before—

“Excuse me,” a voice comes out from the man walking towards her.

Her feet are frozen in place, and her initial plan to run fails. Still, Castorice musters up her strength, managing to take a rigid step forward to shorten the distance between them.

“L-Lord Lygus,” Castorice’s voice shakes as she bows slightly. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

It's just her luck that she would encounter the Theoros of all people right now.

“Please, no need for pleasantries,” the man says. He gives Castorice a once over, before speaking again. “...You're Castorice Dios, a journalist from ‘The Flame-Chase Chronicles’, aren't you?”

The journalist freezes. Her identity has been exposed. Just how many people have recognised her at this point?!

“Y-yes…” She raises her head. “I'm sorry, how did you know?”

“You could say that it was intuition,” Lygus says. “Ah, but I have come across your articles before. They were quite the…fascinating read.”

“Uhm, thank you…?” Castorice raises a brow at the initial statement. But she doesn't have time to interrogate the man. Not when Cipher is about to be caught red-handed.

“However,” Lygus starts. “I do believe the bigger question would be: What exactly is a journalist doing wandering through the halls of Dawncloud?”

The Theoros definitely knew more than he was letting on. Castorice scratches the back of her neck, before promptly replying.

“I was looking for the bathroom since it's currently the break segment of the debate,” Castorice says. It's a complete lie, of course. “But, it appears that I've gotten lost.” She lets out a nervous laugh.

“Is that so?” Lygus doesn't immediately call her bluff. Instead, he looks back down towards Castorice—who nods—before raising an arm to point. “...If you walk down to the end of this hall and turn to the left, the bathroom will be the first door on your right.”

“...Thank you,” Castorice bows awkwardly again. She shifts her stance, not knowing what else to say.

“Is something the matter?” He asks, when Castorice doesn't go in the direction of the bathroom. Her eyes flicker briefly to the door behind her instead.

“N-No! I…” Fortunately, luck is on her side for once, and Castorice feels her phone finally vibrate in her pocket. It must be Cipher—she's probably heard the whole commotion by now. “I'll be off now.”

Castorice quickly stumbles away from the Antikytheran, following his directions to the bathroom. She wasn't planning on heading there, but it would probably do her good to cool off before returning to the forecourt.

Once she's locked in a stall, under the most privacy that a bathroom could provide, Castorice whips out her phone—just to confirm.

Her heart finally settles once she sees the familiar contact pop up once again in her notifications.

~~~

Cipher (5:54 p.m.): i made it out so chill out will you?!

Cipher (5:54 p.m.): thanks for the back up btw

You (5:56 p.m.): I think Lord Lygus knows about us.

You (5:56 p.m.): He almost caught me.

You (5:56 p.m.): (╥﹏╥)

Cipher (5:56 p.m.): really? i wasn't really listening to what yall were talking about

You (5:57 p.m.): Well, it seemed like he knew I was lying about why I was there. But he didn't call my bluff.

You (5:57 p.m.): I'm not even sure why he was there in the first place.

Cipher (5:57 p.m.): huh, weird

Cipher (5:57 p.m.): in any case, i dont see any need to worry about what that theoros is gonna do

Cipher (5:57 p.m.): meet at the same time, same place later?

You (5:58 p.m.): Sure

You (5:58 p.m.): (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

~~~

★☆★☆★

“Now do you believe me?”

Castorice doesn't know what to say—no, how to react—to their latest revelation. It seems like something right out of a crime fiction book, and yet the evidence displayed across her table tells her it's all too real.

Letters, addressed and received, from some of the most notorious businesses in Okhema were things that Cipher managed to ransack from Caenis’s office. Combined with Castorice’s previous research on the discrepancies of the Council’s funding, and the fact that these businesses have donated to Caenis’s campaigns before, the two of them have come to a realistic conclusion.

“She really is doing under the table business…” Castorice mutters, recalling her coworker’s previous words. She glances towards the Thief. “You were right.”

“Sooo…does this mean you finally approve of my little escapade?” Cipher gasps in realisation. Her grin somehow grows larger as she beams at Castorice. “This is enough proof! Right?”

“I suppose so…” Castorice sighs, folding back the letters into their respective envelopes.

“Nice! When should we break in? Tomorrow night sounds perfect but I'm not exactly sure what the weather's gonna be like, so maybe the day after instead if that doesn't work out—?” The Thief rambles, clearly enthusiastic about this ‘hobby’ of hers.

Though, she cuts herself off upon noticing the blank expression across the journalist’s face. “...Hey, what's up with you?”

“I think we should expose Councillor Caenis.”

Wide eyes stare back at her in response.

“Oh? Where's this coming from?” Cipher remarks, smirking. “Has my behaviour rubbed off on you already?”

“N-no, it's just—it's what Thief Star would stand for, right?” Castorice says. “Councillor Caenis is abusing her power as a member of the Council. We can't just…keep this knowledge to ourselves.”

She clenches her fists, a rare spark of anger simmering in her veins.

“I just thought that since you're ‘breaking in’ anyway, you could maybe search for more clues or evidence…?” Castorice continues, her tone hopeful about the possible idea.

With Cipher’s help in gaining clues, there's no doubt that Castorice could be able to construct a proper article on Caenis’s misdeeds, and perhaps even turn over the evidence to the authorities. In a way, it revolves back to Cipher’s goal of seeking justice too, doesn't it? (On a side note, it would definitely be a great topic to write about.)

Castorice watches nervously as the gears in Cipher’s head churn. After a few moments, the Thief nods in agreement, her tail swishing about. “I like what you're thinking, Journalist Homebody.”

“Is that a yes to my plan, then?” Castorice’s lips quirk up into a small smile, leaning in closer towards Cipher. Somehow, these situations have started to make Castorice grow excited. Maybe Cipher really was rubbing off on her after all. “You'll search for more clues?”

“With you looking at me like that I don't think I'll be able to say no,” Cipher teases, nudging Castorice by the shoulder.

The touch sends a shiver through Castorice’s spine. She frowns at Cipher, leaning away from her again.

“...You're incorrigible.” Castorice groans. “I wish you could take things seriously for once.”

“Hey, I would've said yes either way,” Cipher retorts. “Wouldn't want to miss out on all the fun in exposing Caenis.”

Castorice merely sighs, shaking her head.

Cipher raises a hand up, waving it slightly in response.

The journalist tilts her head in confusion, confused by Cipher’s sudden gesture. She eyes it sceptically, unsure about the intentions behind it.

“Are you really gonna leave me hanging, Journalist Homebody?” Cipher asks, a sly smile growing on her face yet again.

It's only then that Castorice realises her mistake. Embarrassed, she raises her own hand, tapping it against Cipher’s in a small high-five.

Barely a second before Castorice moves her hand back towards herself, Cipher grasps it in her own hand, clutching it tightly. Castorice shudders at the warmth touch, shocked by the Thief’s forwardness.

“Let's take down these bigwigs!” Cipher exclaims, raising their hands in triumph.

Castorice nods, smiling at Cipher’s enthusiasm. “It seems as though Thief Star has a new mission.”

The two laugh together, confident about the next step in their plan.

What could go wrong anyway?

★☆★☆★

“Shit, shit, shit!” The words are shouted out as her car door opens, before immediately slamming shut. “Drive. Now.”

“W-What’s wrong?” Despite her confusion, Castorice stomps on the gas pedal, sending her car flying through the streets. She sneaks a glance to the rear view mirror, freezing up when she makes out two figures in the growing distance.

Her lips quiver, heart picking up its pace as her eyes dart towards Cipher. “What did you do?”

The Thief seems somewhat composed for the most part, though Castorice can still hear her soft panting bouncing off the walls of the car. (Well, Castorice assumes she ran here.)

Frankly, Castorice doesn't want to start panicking so soon, but if Cipher doesn't start talking, then perhaps she'll have a reason to do so.

“I just did what I always did alright?! Y’know, like the usual sneaking in and stuff,” Cipher insists.

“Who were they then?” Castorice questions. Unease bubbles in her gut. “Did…did they see you?”

“Don't worry about it—they couldn't possibly catch up to the fastest Thief in all of Amphoreus,” Cipher merely brushes the journalist off. She rummages through her bag, searching. “On more important matters, I did find some things that you'll be interested in.”

“...You found more evidence?” Castorice asks. Her voice shakes slightly, still skeptical about whether Cipher had truly escaped unseen.

“Yeah. I found a bunch of cash stashed in a vault—but that could just be Caenis’s personal savings,” Cipher says. “But I did also find more letters where she's setting up meetings with some business owners though. Same ones as the other letters in her office at Dawncloud.”

“Have the meetings already taken place?” The journalist responds, somewhat distracted by the new evidence displayed before them.

“Well, I wasn't really able to read through all the letters but I did spot one that you'll be interested in,” Cipher hums, fishing out a letter from the bag. She holds it up in front of her, like a trophy. “It's from your old friend, Sebastian Economou! Apparently, he's meeting with Caenis in a few weeks to discuss details about ‘Magma Soil’s investment opportunities’...?”

“Investment opportunities?” Castorice repeats. “What does that even mean?”

“Well whatever it is, it's definitely a lie,” Cipher laughs, carelessly shoving the letter back into her bag. “You'd think they'd find a better way to hide their illegal exchanges but I guess they really are just overconfident. To be honest, I think even you could come up with a better lie.”

Castorice chuffs at Cipher’s usual commentary. “...Do you think we could catch them in the act?”

The car jostles as Castorice turns right on an intersection. She steals a glance over to Cipher, wanting to see her reaction.

“Of course! With me by your side, we'll definitely be able to sneak around without them noticing us,” Cipher proclaims, smiling brightly.

It's certainly a step in the right direction if they want to find out more about Caenis’s misdeeds. Sure, it's not the most legal way, but Castorice thinks they've already gone past the point of considering things like legality. If anything, catching Caenis in the act will only act as a stepping stool to uncover the whole truth about her shady acts. Moreover, with multiple names already gathered, there's a chance they could find someone to spill secrets about the deals.

“Hm, I suppose we have a plan then,” Castorice concludes. She's now smirking as well, infected by Cipher’s glowing smile.

She rounds a corner, and looks back up in the rear view mirror for good measure. Thankfully, there's no one tailing them anymore and the streets are empty as usual.

Cipher does show off some of the various ‘treasures’ she managed to snag for Caenis’s home—seemingly more happy about it than their main goal of exposing the Councillor. At one point she pauses, flinging her dark cloak into the backseat of Castorice’s car after complaining about the heat.

When her eyes dart mindlessly towards the Thief at a traffic light, Castorice unintentionally gasps. She can spot a few bright red scratches peeking out from the sleeves of Cipher’s shirt, as well as bruises beginning to blossom along her wrists.

Castorice inhales sharply.

“You're hurt,” she comments, unsure of what exactly to say. With how new the cuts and bruises looked, she's sure that Cipher had left out a crucial detail about her escape. It'd definitely explain Cipher’s earlier panic and insistence that Castorice drove immediately. More worryingly, it signalled to Castorice that Cipher had left out specific parts in her story that could compromise their safety. “What happened?”

“Oh, these? It's nothing too bad. Just a…minor hiccup when I was jumping out a window,” Cipher shrugs, tugging down her sleeves. “Caught myself on some rocks.”

Castorice raises a brow, silent. Cipher merely sighs, knowing that the Journalist doesn't buy her answer.

“Okay, so, uh—Promise you won't freak out, but…” Cipher continues, clasping her hands together and facing Castorice. She takes Castorice’s hesitant nod as confirmation. “Let's just say that I may or may not have gotten tackled to the ground after falling out the window, and—”

“What?” Castorice grips her steering wheel harder. Panic starts to settle in. “Y-You said they didn't see you!”

“Hey! You said you wouldn't freak out!” Cipher says quickly.

“Not if you lie,” Castorice snaps.

“To be fair, they technically didn't see me—it was too dark and my face was practically fully covered.” Cipher shrugs.

“Still. They could recognise you. Maybe even give your description to the police if they managed to get any,” Castorice explains. “...What if you get caught?”

“I won't,” Cipher urges, voice firmer now. “I managed to slip away in a few seconds, so I doubt they'll remember anything about me,” she reasons. “Besides—I've been doing this for months! We've been doing this for quite awhile too. Why else would you call Thief Star ‘Amphoreus’s greatest phantom thief’?”

“I never called you that, you claimed the title yourself,” Castorice frowns, grumbling about Cipher’s nonchalance.

“Nope, I definitely recall you praising me like that.” Cipher chuckles. “...You don't have to worry about either of us getting caught, alright? You're untraceable as well. It's way too dark to spot your license plate.”

Castorice hadn't thought about that possibility. It should have left her more scared, more paranoid about their inevitable demise of being caught, but somehow, she remains mostly composed. It's as though Cipher’s cheerful attitude about the situation soothes her nerves.

Cipher raises a hand to pat Castorice’s shoulder. She flinches at the touch but Cipher doesn't seem to notice.

At this point in their ‘partnership’, Castorice is merely thankful that Cipher hasn't seen even bigger injuries. Or worse.

“...Are you sure?” Castorice murmurs. Her eyes flicker to the hand still resting on her shoulder. “Maybe…maybe we should lay low for some time.”

“What?!” Cipher exclaims. “Isn't it more fun like this? Thrilling?”

Perhaps there is something deeply wrong with Cipher for her to enjoy escaping the law. But oddly enough, Castorice thinks that it's quite in character for the Thief.

“Trust me.” Cipher leans back on her seat, her smile never fading. She retracts her hand; Castorice would be lying if she said she didn't miss the comforting touch. “They'll treat this like all of the other Thief Star cases.”

Continuing her drive into the depths of the night, Castorice isn't sure why the comment makes her uneasy.

★☆★☆★

She gets her answer the very next day.

Perhaps fate has decided to play a trick on the both of them for being so optimistic because who else would jinx themselves not once, but twice, in the span of two days.

Being possibly cursed isn't exactly an idea Castorice wants to entertain, but with the number of things she's been involved in these past few months, she should probably resign herself to this new normal.

And so, as Castorice stares at the television screen in front of her, she comes to the conclusion that they're doomed.

“Targeting a Councillor signifies to us that Thief Star has no care about authority—they merely want to challenge it. Their ruthless display in carrying out these break-ins is nothing more than a show of misplaced confidence and a lack of remorse.”

“But know this: the Okheman Police Department will not back down from this fight. We will do our best to catch this shameless criminal, and bring peace back to—”

Castorice shuts the television off before the speaker on screen can even finish his words. She's heard enough to know that this isn't good at all.

This is bad.

“This is great!” Cipher exclaims from beside the journalist. (At least one of them was excited by the news?) “I'm practically famous now!”

Castorice’s head snaps to look Cipher in the eye. She doesn't know how Cipher can maintain her cool under such dire conditions. “How could you be happy hearing such news?” She says, exasperated. “Thief Star is top priority for the Okheman Police Department now and you're…excited about it?”

“Yep, they have all eyes on me—what's not to like?” Cipher shrugs. “Plus, Caenis definitely knows her place now.”

“Why did you even…” Castorice frowns. “What made you think that it was a good idea to leave your gold coin—the symbol of Thief Star—at Caenis’s home?!” She shakes her head. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn't do that.”

“Oops, I guess that just slipped my mind in all of the chaos,” Cipher replies. “It's fine. The police haven't caught me yet, have they?”

Cipher’s nonchalance now irks Castorice. She's…furious that of all times Cipher could choose to be serious, she doesn't choose to right now. Even when she's close to getting found out. Even when their whole plan is about to be exposed.

“They know something,” Castorice insists. “Why else would Captain Krateros make such a bold statement?”

“Because he wants to look good, duh.” Cipher rolls her eyes. She says it like it's the most obvious thing ever. “He's been making promises from the start but we all know he can't keep them. This isn't anything new.”

“Still, this much attention isn't good,” Castorice says. “Just one slip-up and…”

She leaves her sentence unfinished.

Cipher isn't too happy about Castorice’s paranoia, given that she's groaning dramatically in response.

“If you're that worried about getting caught then don't come with me next time,” Cipher suggests offhandedly. “I'll be fine on my own. You can work on your little articles in the comfort of your own home.”

“It's not that I'm worried about being—” Castorice pauses. She exhales, eyes darting away from the Thief. “...I just want you to be safe.”

“I am safe,” Cipher says. “Have been, always will be—don't you have faith in my skills?”

“I do. I always have. But you've been…different,” Castorice points out. “Thief Sta—no, you were never this reckless when this all started. And now, you've already been caught up to once—what will you do when you can't escape the next time?”

“Well you don't have to worry about that,” Cipher furrows her brows, frowning. “There won't be a next time.”

“...How can you be so sure about that?” Castorice swallows.

“Because I—”

“I think we should stop.”

When Castorice forces herself to look back at Cipher, the Thief stares blankly at her. Her eyes are widened, ears pushed back. It's the first time Castorice has ever seen her so silent.

“What are you—” Cipher starts, but is cut off once again.

“We should stop all…this,” Castorice gestures around to the papers laying across the table. To the notes of their intended targets. To the evidence that would incriminate the both of them. “Just for some time. Until things settle down.”

“You can't be serious,” Cipher scoffs. “Just a bit of attention on us and you already want to back down?”

“It's merely a temporary precaution,” Castorice attempts to reason. “...We can still work on Caenis’s case and the others, just without breaking in. We can do research online, plan our next move, and—”

“And sit around on our asses while Caenis does who knows what?” Cipher interrupts. “If you really want to stop, fine. I don't care how you spend your free time. But I'll keep doing my thing—with or without you.”

“You're proving my point,” Castorice merely says. “Can't you see just how reckless you're being?”

Castorice wants to reach a hand out towards Cipher, but her hesitation gives the Thief enough time to shift away—increasing the distance between them. She scowls at Castorice, a rare emotion growing on her face.

She's never seen such an…ugly expression on Cipher before. Cipher isn't saying anything, but her eyes tell a different story. They're filled with something Castorice can only describe as anger? Disappointment? Whatever it is, she looks at Castorice with something akin to hate. As though the journalist was now her enemy.

“Why…” Castorice starts again, taking the chance to speak. “Why do you care so much about being Thief Star?”

“Does it matter?” Cipher says. The question seems to have stirred something within the Thief, by how her voice quivers when she speaks. By how she shrinks back into the sofa—her confidence nowhere to be found.

Castorice wants to say something else—to relieve the tension now apparent in the room—but she's interrupted by a knock on her front door.

Their heads turn in sync, startled by the noise.

“Castorice, are you home?” A familiar voice calls out, muffled by the door.

Castorice can recognise it. She practically hears it everyday at work. But this time, the voice is just outside her home.

She glances back towards Cipher, who also seems rather frazzled by the sudden guest.

Before she lets herself overreact, Castorice calls out. “I-I’ll be there in just a moment!”

She stands up, collecting the papers scattered on the table into a neat pile. Afterwards, she directs her thoughts towards the still figure on her couch. Cipher definitely couldn't be seen by any of her coworkers.

“Uhm,” Castorice whispers, gesturing in the direction behind her. “Could you wait in my bedroom? I promise I'll be quick.”

“...Alright,” Cipher replies without an ounce of resistance. It's scary watching her disappear into Castorice’s room—quiet and seemingly lacking her spark. But there isn't time to fret over Cipher’s change in behaviour now.

When the door to her bedroom clicks shut, Castorice bolts to her front door, opening it slightly.

“L-Lady Aglaea!” Castorice forces herself to smile. “What brings you here?”

Aglaea is standing outside her apartment, green eyes staring back at her—a box in her hands. She's wearing her typical elegant gown once again, but her looks don't necessarily match her expression. Her brows are knitted together, a clear look of concern written across her face. Still, Aglaea attempts to hide it, by how she perks up when Castorice appears.

“I was in the neighbourhood for work,” Aglaea says. “Tribbie asked me to pass on a gift to you.”

She raises the box that Castorice had previously noticed. It rattles when Aglaea shakes it slightly.

“You didn't need to visit,” Castorice sighs, relieved that it's not anything serious. “I would've been at the office tomorrow.”

“Well, it was too convenient an opportunity to pass up. I figured I'd check in on you as well.” Aglaea shrugs. “Your request for leave today was rather…sudden. We all thought you had fallen ill.”

Castorice had decided to not work today, needing to rest after that horrific night at Caenis’s house. Besides, she hasn't been feeling the best either way since knowing the truth behind Caenis.

On a more sour note, her previous hypothesis about being cursed seemed to prove true once again: Aglaea of all people came to visit her—right in the middle of Castorice’s and Cipher’s ‘argument’—(if you could even call it that).

“I didn't mean to make you all worry. I just needed a break today,” Castorice lies. “To clear my thoughts.”

Aglaea raises a brow at the admission. She motions towards the half-opened door that Castorice is holding onto. “May I come in?”

“Sorry, it's rather messy,” Castorice shakes her head, declining. “...Didn't you say you have work to do?”

While brief disappointment flashes across Aglaea’s face, she doesn't push further. Castorice is thankful for that.

“You're right,” Aglaea nods, understanding that the Journalist wasn't too keen on visitors at the moment. “Here.”

Castorice is handed the metal box. She looks up at Aglaea in uncertainty.

“Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon baked some cookies yesterday,” Aglaea clarifies. “They were going to pass some to you today, but you weren't at the office.”

“Ah,” Castorice hums, surprised. She glances down to the box in her arms. “Could you thank them for me?”

“Of course,” Aglaea replies. “I apologise for disturbing you on your break—I hope you'll get the rest you need.”

“Thank you,” Castorice says. “I'll…see you tomorrow, then?”

Aglaea nods again, cracking a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Castorice waves Aglaea off, and the woman finally leaves. She shuts her door hurriedly, and lets herself lean against it, taking a moment to exhale.

“Was that Aglaea?” Cipher’s voice appears as she steps out of Castorice’s room.

Castorice just nods. After a moment, she stands straight after realising something.

“You know Lady Aglaea?” Castorice asks, confused.

“Uh, not really, we haven't talked in years,” Cipher’s eyes dart across the room, settling on everything that isn't Castorice. “But she's your boss, no?”

“She…is,” Castorice agrees. She can't find it in herself to be surprised by the revelation—that Cipher and Aglaea know each other. She's too distracted by the suffocating air that lingers between her and Cipher.

“About earlier, I—” Castorice speaks up, hugging the box in her arms.

“You don't have to worry about that,” Cipher interjects. “We'll stop for now.”

Castorice tilts her head in confusion, wondering where this sudden compliance was coming from. “...Really?”

“I just said it, didn't I?” Cipher sighs, replying monotonously.

Oddly enough, Castorice can't find it in herself to buy Cipher’s words. But she doesn't want to argue—to risk destabilising their relationship even further. “...Thank you.”

“I'll just…” Cipher huffs, gesturing to the door behind Castorice. “I'm just gonna…go now. Yeah.”

Castorice steps aside, letting Cipher open the door. She walks out without second thought, leaving Castorice’s apartment.

Castorice is left alone, with only herself and her own selfish thoughts.

★☆★☆★

The days pass by and news of Thief Star dwindles down.

Their break is working better than expected, and while it doesn't necessarily stop the police from investigating Thief Star, it does seem to throw them off track for some time.

Given that it's only been about a week since Castorice and Cipher last met, let alone contacted, the journalist can only assume that Cipher is actually holding up her end of the deal—no tricks or schemes or anything nonsensical that the Thief was usually up to by this time.

It feels weird. Not talking with Cipher, that is.

Ever since the start of their ‘partnership’ (and friendship?), they had never gone this long without talking. Even if they didn't have plans regarding Thief Star’s next ploy, Cipher—or even Castorice—would usually send the occasional odd message to check in with the other. So now, with her phone missing notifications from her text chat with Cipher, a part of Castorice feels…wrong? No, perhaps that wasn't the right word.

Admittedly, there is something Castorice could do to remedy this problem: by taking the initiative to send Cipher a text. A simple message like—‘How are you?’—would be sufficient. And when she receives her long awaited reply, she'll finally heave a sigh of relief, letting her, frankly, unnecessary emotions wither away.

But was Castorice going to do that? Short answer: No. Sure, she's worried about how Cipher is faring, but it seems her concerns over how Cipher would react outweighs them. They didn't exactly end off their last interaction on the best note. Cipher didn't seem too happy about Castorice’s confrontation, and even seemed relieved to leave Castorice’s apartment.

So even if Castorice is able to gather the courage to send Cipher a message, would she get a response?

Agonising over such small details is probably part of Castorice’s routine by now. If she were braver, more confident like Cipher, she'd just send a text without hesitation. But alas, she's not, despite how much she wants to be. At the end of the day, Castorice is still the sheltered and closed-off girl she was all those years ago. She can't help it.

All she can do now is either send the first text or simply wait until Cipher does.

As if on cue, her phone screen lights up with a new notification. She swipes it off the table, but is disappointed to see that Cipher hasn't messaged her at all. Instead, a lengthy reply from Sebastian Economou fills her screen.

She had gotten back in contact with the man after finding his letters corresponding with Caenis, in hopes of finding new information. From what it looked like, the two were merely talking about working together—no official ‘partnership’ established between the two yet.

Surprisingly, after some ‘convincing’, Economou did admit to talking with Caenis. Apparently their discussions about forming a partnership had reached a stalemate, and he had grown fed up with the Councillor. After hearing Castorice’s promises of anonymity and the opportunity to ‘take down’ Caenis, he had agreed to help the journalist. So by all means, Castorice should be elated by the news.

But she merely sets her phone back on the table, deflating against her seat. She reminds herself to contact the businessman again later that day.

“Something wrong?”

Castorice looks back up to Phainon, who sits across from her. His head is titled almost cartoonishly, as he scans Castorice’s countenance.

Castorice could say nothing. None of her coworkers or friends know about Cipher anyway. But as she bites her lip in thought, the words eventually come tumbling out faster than she'd like them to.

“How would you make up with someone after an argument?” Castorice pauses, then adds. “...Hypothetically.”

“An argument?” He repeats. “Well whenever Mydei and I have disagreements about something, we compete with each other to prove our own points.”

Castorice stares blankly at her coworker. Was this why Phainon and Mydei were always challenging each other at the office? Because they were…arguing about something? “I don't think that would work for me…”

“Hm, well…” Phainon trails off. He's silent for a bit, seemingly in deep thought, like he was seriously considering solutions for Castorice’s hypothetical problem. “I'd say give the other person some space to cool off. If they talk to you first then that's great! But you can always take the initiative to reach out to them first, after some time.”

This…actually sounded like solid advice. Maybe Castorice had a thing or two to learn from Phainon.

“I see,” Castorice nods, considering Phainon’s suggestion. It wasn't exactly anything innovative—and it was also similar to Castorice’s original plan—but it did seem to shine a more…positive light onto this situation.

Castorice would wait for however long, if it meant that she could mend her and Cipher’s relationship.

“Do you care a lot about this person?” Phainon questions. “Hypothetically, of course.” He adds, then chuckles.

Did she care about Cipher?

It's an obvious answer—of course she does. She has regard for all of her friends, and it's precisely because she cares for Cipher that she's worried about how to make up with her.

It's just that…Cipher was unlike any of her other friends. Given that they met under the pretense of a partnership and gathering information, it definitely wasn't the start of your typical friendship. A relationship that started out with mistrust and annoyance, soon turned into a lasting friendship that Castorice cherishes—one that makes Castorice smile more than she ever has in recent years.

And for as much of an introvert Castorice is, she finds herself missing Cipher’s presence. She's used to being alone, enjoying solitude every now and then, but ever since Cipher broke her way into Castorice’s life…it's changed her outlook on it.

Have her other friends ever made her…feel this way?

The journalist swallows, pushing the thoughts away to the back of her mind. Her heart betrays her, and she can feel it thumping in her chest.

“I do,” Castorice states. The sound of her heart beating travels up to her ears. “...More than I want to admit.”

His mouth curves up into a smile at her words. “Then I'm sure you'll be able to settle your differences, one way or another.”

Castorice thanks Phainon for his advice, followed by apologising for dragging him into an awkward conversation. He merely chuckles again, wishing her luck with this hypothetical person.

★☆★☆★

After her chat with Phainon, Castorice has had a few more days to process her thoughts, reflecting on her argument with Cipher. She… was at some fault, given that her words were harsher than she intended them to be. ‘Thief Star’ seemed to be a rather sensitive topic for Cipher, but Castorice still isn't exactly sure why. Regardless, she'll keep giving Cipher space, until the Thief is ready to talk.

She has all the time in the world anyway.

Speaking of spending her time wisely, Castorice did manage to follow up on her messages with Economou, while also finally concluding the exact misdeeds of Caenis. She already has a title in mind and an outline already planned out.

Castorice throws herself into work and research, finding it to be the only thing that keeps her mind away from Cipher. It's been effective for the most part, other than the occasional thought about how the Thief was doing.

Roughly two weeks have passed since their argument now, and it's only a week before Economou is due to ‘meet’ with Caenis. Cipher still hasn't contacted her, and Castorice is starting to think she might have to carry out this ‘mission’ by herself.

On one particular night where Castorice’s thoughts are keeping her awake, she grabs her laptop and throws herself onto her couch. She pulls up a document she's been working on and types away. The words flow easily, and within a matter of minutes, begin to fill up the page. But when Castorice pauses to skim through what she's written so far, she finds it to be…lacking.

It's a perfectly fine read, but the journalist can't help but feel like something was missing. A yawn escaping her, Castorice hits backspace, deleting some of the sentences she's unhappy with. She had thought her writer’s block had already been cured, with how she's been able to write her articles as of late, but now, Castorice isn't so certain.

She frowns, realising her late night productivity session turned out to be a mere mirage. Staring at the blinding screen, Castorice ponders: Why can't I write?

A thunderous thud echoes in her apartment.

Instinctively, her head snaps to the front door, gathering it to be the source of the noise. It's already past midnight, and she isn't expecting any visitors, so who or what exactly is at her door?

Castorice shudders at the possibilities. She flinches where the knocks on her door continue—quick, light raps that make her ears perk up.

The journalist shifts her laptop off her lap, carefully placing it on the table in front of her. She stands, warily inching closer to her door, and keeping in mind to keep her steps light-footed. Once she's there, Castorice presses herself against the door and stares into its peephole—inspecting the other end of the door.

It's a person. Castorice can see that they're still knocking, in desperate, hurried beats. She can also see that they have their head lowered, and that they're covered by a black clo—

A black cloak? Isn't that—

Castorice flings open her front door after snatching her keys to open it. The visitor seems startled at the action, but they lift their head up enough that Castorice’s hypothesis is proven true.

It's Cipher, in all her glory.

Cipher pulls down her mask, bracing herself against the door frame with one arm. She's huffing and clearly out of breath, but a simple request still slips out. “...Mind if I crash here for a bit?”

Castorice doesn't say anything, opting to yank Cipher into her apartment by the arm, locking the door behind them.

It clicks shut, and Castorice drags a stumbling Cipher inside, nudging for her to sit on the couch. Cipher tumbles onto the cushions, glancing cautiously at Castorice, who towers over her.

Castorice stands there and observes. She doesn't know what to do—or even what to say—so for now, all she can do is gather clues on what trouble Cipher has gotten herself into this time.

Taking a quick scan at the dishevelled figure before her, Castorice notes the new cuts and bruises that appear on the uncovered parts of Cipher. The dark red stains that seep through her clothes reveal what's underneath as well.

Castorice doesn't want to imagine what Cipher’s been through, so instead, she grimaces at the new injuries the Thief has gathered.

“Y’know, if you keep staring at me like that I'm gonna start thinking I look great like this,” Cipher smirks, leaning back onto the couch.

Castorice frowns, spinning around to walk away from Cipher. Whatever lingering anger and worry that bubbles inside Castorice, isn't immediately released. She could always scold Cipher for her reckless behaviour later. Right now, addressing the thief's wounds seemed to be of utmost importance.

“You're really not in the mood to talk, huh?” The journalist hears Cipher call out.

She steps into her bathroom, rummaging through the cabinets for whatever bandages, gauzes and disinfectants she has laying around. Carrying them in her arms, Castorice rushes back to Cipher’s side, and dumps the materials onto her couch.

She crouches down towards Cipher, beginning to pull off the cloak that hangs around the Thief. Although initially reluctant, one stern look from the journalist makes Cipher comply. She hears Cipher suppress a hiss as the cloak is tossed onto her floor.

She gives Cipher a once-over now that she's less covered, noticing the new scrapes and bruises that have blossomed onto the Thief’s skin. There's a particularly large gash that concerns Castorice, but at the very least, it isn't bleeding anymore.

“It looks worse than it actually is,” Cipher comments offhandedly, watching as the journalist scrutinises over every single injury of hers.

Castorice still doesn't reply, merely huffing as she reaches for the pile on the sofa. She works as quietly and quickly as possible to patch Cipher up. Her first aid skills aren't world class—given that she had picked it up from a friend—but they seem to do the job. Though more importantly, it'll prevent Cipher from bleeding all over her apartment.

She's used to caring for others—tending to their needs and keeping them company. But those were physical illnesses and aside from Cipher’s current injuries, Castorice is sure that there's something deeper lingering inside the Thief.

Her heart pounds in her chest as she continues to work. She can't decipher what exact expression Cipher is making. Is she still mad? In pain? Or maybe even relieved? Her silence definitely didn't help Castorice in figuring that out.

Castorice smooths out the last butterfly stitch before turning away from Cipher. She fiddles with the supplies, organising them back into their respective boxes.

“...You lied,” Castorice states. She tries to keep her tone relatively calm, but it's pointless since she knows that Cipher’s going to say something that will rile her up anyway.

“I did,” Cipher admits, much to Castorice’s surprise. No jokes, no riddles, just a simple truth. “But you weren't supposed to find out.”

Seeing the suppressed look of panic written on the journalist’s face, Cipher sighs. “You don't have to worry. I didn't leave any evidence behind this time. No one will suspect us.”

“But you're in my home. Injured.” Castorice looks up at Cipher. “Doesn't that mean someone—”

“Geez, I was just careless, okay?!” Cipher snaps. She frowns, wrapping her arms around herself. “I just tripped over something while I was running—”

“Cipher,” Castorice cuts her off.

She knows it's bullshit. Knows that Cipher was deflecting again. Maybe Castorice had let her off the hook too easily the last time they talked, but now, the journalist just wants—no, needs—to hear Cipher be truthful. Just this once.

Cipher’s eyes dart away, her ears flattening against her head. She doesn't say anything, despite Castorice’s plea.

“Please,” Castorice says next, practically begging for Cipher to be honest.

It's only then, that the Thief huffs. “It was only a minor scuffle. I was distracted and didn't see someone coming towards me. Before I knew it, I was on the ground,” Cipher shrugs. “Afterwards…I ran here. Your apartment was closer than mine. And, well you obviously know what happened next.”

Castorice sighs, taking in Cipher’s words.

“Was this…the only time you broke in? Since two weeks ago…?” She asks, hopeful.

“No. I managed to run off unnoticed the other few times I did,” Cipher says.

“...Why?” Castorice asks next. “Why do all this? Why couldn't you just…stop? Not even for a week or two?”

“...Will you relax, Journalist Homebody?” Cipher scoffs, her face warping into her carefree persona. “You haven't heard news of Thief Star recently so isn't that good? Wasn't that why you wanted us to stop in the first place?”

For the most part, Castorice can tell whether Cipher is being genuine. Right now, she knows that the confident and bright smile plastered on the Thief’s face, is nothing but a lie—much like the other countless half-truths that Castorice has received. It's oddly…unsettling, seeing Cipher's clear attempt to appear like her usual self. As she hesitates to speak, her eyes linger on Cipher. What usually fills her stomach with butterflies, now makes it churn instead.

It's simple as day: Cipher is deflecting.

And Castorice doesn't like that—despite how hypocritical it may seem.

"That's…not the point,” the journalist affirms.

“Then what is?!” Cipher retorts. “If you think you know all about Thief Star then tell me—what is the point? What even is the point in any of this?!”

“Cipher, you're…” Castorice starts. She decides to sit next to the Thief. She wants to reach out—to hold Cipher—and provide her comfort, just like what Cipher’s done for her before. But when Cipher shuffles away from the journalist, Castorice doesn't commit to the action. “You've been careless, and honestly…I'm worried about you,” she admits instead. “I…hate seeing you like this.”

Cipher rolls her eyes. “Save your pity for someone else! I don't need to hear—”

“Do you really think that this is the right thing to do?” Castorice states, letting her words echo through the apartment.

Castorice doesn't know what she expected her words to do. But instead of calmly processing her words, Cipher springs up from the couch—away from the journalist.

“Well what else am I supposed to do?!” Cipher yells. “I-I don't understand what it is you expect me to do!” She's towering over a silent Castorice as she continues. “I…can't write as well as you can, be as charismatic as those bigwigs from the council, or even be anything of worth!”

“Cipher—” Through her shock at Cipher’s outburst, Castorice manages to call out. But she's completely ignored as Cipher looks down at her—her voice raw and hoarse.

“Running, lying, and stealing are the only tricks I have—yet no one even respects them! So excuse me, if I'm merely being truthful to my nature!” Cipher exclaims, shaking her head. “...Whatever ideas you had about your stupid, amazing, idol ‘Thief Star’—I hate to break it to you but I'm nothing like them! Not one bit!”

Castorice’s heart sinks at the words, creating a newfound emptiness in her chest. She doesn't like seeing Cipher like this—so…distraught. Beneath all of Cipher’s cunning words, were merely a hidden sorrow, kept under wraps so as to seem like the perfect person. But looking at Cipher now, Castorice knows this isn't true.

Cipher isn't even making sense anymore—berating herself over things that simply aren't her fault. All Castorice wants to do now is to hold Cipher in her arms and tell her that everything will be all right. But in such an exasperated state, Castorice doesn't know what could even calm the Thief down.

As though noticing Castorice’s incertitude, Cipher’s panic grows tenfold. “I-I never should've come here at all—never…never should've involved you in any of my childish dreams,” Cipher’s eyes dart anywhere but towards Castorice, backing away from the journalist. “In fact, I should've just let myself get caught right then and there—t-then all of this wouldn't have even happened! You—”

“Cipher.”

Castorice rushes forward, grabbing the Thief by her shoulders.

Bright blue eyes finally stare back at her, and Castorice couldn't be more relieved. Her grip around Cipher’s shoulders tightens subconsciously, forcing Cipher to look at her.

“Don't…say that,” Castorice breathes out, her voice trembling. “...Any of that. It isn't true.”

Cipher doesn't argue, simply taking the moment to register the weight of Castorice’s words. She doesn't even try to look away anymore—it's why the journalist can now notice the glossy look of Cipher’s eyes, her clenched fists, and even her drooped and idle tail. This isn't the look of a fearless Thief, but rather, the look of an ill-fated, innocent person.

Castorice doesn't know what possesses her to do this, but instead of keeping their distance where it is, she closes it instead. She wraps her arms around Cipher and pulls her into her own embrace.

“You're worthy of praise in my eyes,” Castorice admits, burying her head into the crook of Cipher’s neck. “We all have our own strengths, and yours just so happens to be…different. But that doesn't make you any less of a good person, does it?” She closes her eyes, listening to the hitch of Cipher’s breath. “I'd say you're even better than Caenis and Economou. You're…a better person than I could ever dream of being.”

Cipher, who originally had her hands by her side, doesn't fight the embrace. Her own arms awkwardly shift up, accepting Castorice’s hug. Castorice, in turn, rubs the Thief’s back, pulling her closer. She can hear sniffles coming from Cipher, but she decides not to mention it—opting to focus on calming Cipher down.

Eventually, Castorice is the first to pull away, wanting to assess Cipher’s current state. She reaches a hand up to rub her eyes, but Castorice can still see the stray drops of tears that already trailed down Cipher’s face.

“...Sorry,” Cipher utters. “I barged into your home then got mad at you. I really am an idiot, aren't I?”

“I don't mind. It was wrong of me to provoke you as well,” Castorice exhales. “But that's what partners are for, right?” She extends a hand out.

“...Partners,” Cipher chuckles, returning the gesture. “You're such a dork, you know that?”

“Don't you like that part of me?” Castorice retorts, filled with an unusual bout of courage. “Besides, aren't you considered a dork as well based on all those nicknames you come up with?”

“Oh? Where's this sudden confidence coming from?” Cipher raises a brow.

“...I just want you to know that you can rely on me,” Castorice rubs the back of her neck, answering. “You don't have to lie or run from me. I chose to work with you, so I'll gladly bear the consequences for doing so.”

The tips of Cipher’s lips curl into a smile. Castorice can't help but smile too.

The two awkwardly settle back onto their seats on the couch, and Castorice does a quick reassessment of Cipher’s injuries. They don't fall into any particular conversation, but once Castorice is satisfied with her work, Cipher speaks up.

“Sooo…” Cipher drawls. “I think it's probably safe for me to go now. I doubt they're still chasing after me.”

“Oh,” Castorice says.

“Thanks for bandaging me up, Journalist Homebody!” Cipher says. “...And sorry, again. For taking up your time.”

Cipher stands up from the couch, gathering her bag and cloak from the ground. As she attempts to walk towards the door, Castorice acts Instinctively.

“Wait!” Castorice reaches out, grabbing Cipher by the wrist. The Thief eyes her, confused by the sudden gesture.

Castorice is dumbfounded as well.

A part of her wanted Cipher to stay, despite how unnecessary it was. But it seems as though her hands had worked faster than her brain—having grabbed onto Cipher without a single thought of what to say next. She lets go of Cipher’s wrist, blushing.

“Uhm, y-you should stay the night,” Castorice suggests spontaneously. “It's late and…I think it would be safer for you to leave in the morning.”

“Huh? It's fine, I wouldn't want to intrude,” Cipher says.

“You wouldn't! You're injured and it would put me at ease if you stayed…?” Castorice looks up at Cipher, hopeful.

Cipher pauses, inspecting Castorice’s expression. Then, she sighs, shrugging at the journalist. “Well if you're asking me…I guess I can't say no.”

Castorice too, lets out a sigh of relief. She's pretty sure Cipher doesn't buy her excuses, but at the very least, she's thankful that Cipher is playing into it—saving Castorice from the embarrassment that would have come from admitting the reasons for her insistence.

All she knows is that this time, she won't let Cipher stray too far again.

★☆★☆★

As she stares up at her ceiling, Castorice starts to regret her decision.

It's probably been over half an hour since she's tucked herself into bed, but she still isn't asleep. From the pounding in her chest, to the racing thoughts bouncing around in her head—Castorice finds herself feeling restless.

It also doesn't help that Cipher’s currently right beside her—in the same bed—because of course this would be just the type of situation that Castorice walks herself into. She had blurted out that Cipher could sleep in her bed, but, Cipher had made the wonderful assumption that the two of them would share the bed. In actuality, Castorice was going to sleep on the couch instead, but with Cipher beaming at her, the journalist found it hard to refuse…leading to her current predicament now.

She hadn't been able to sleep before, but she's definitely staying awake now.

Castorice glances towards the figure turned away from her. Cipher was wearing one of the journalist’s old t-shirts, which was…different from Cipher’s usual tastes. She assumes that the thief is already asleep, based on the slow rise and fall of her chest, combined with the light breaths of air she lets out.

At least one of them wasn't bothered by their proximity. Maybe Castorice’s thoughts are irrational. She does have the tendency to over think after all.

She shifts slightly—trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep—and notices that one of Cipher’s ears twitch. She smiles at the sight, and opts to stare back up at the ceiling again—tracing mindless patterns into the drywall above her.

“...What are we even doing?” She whispers, to no one in particular.

Castorice doesn't expect an answer—merely wanting to question herself—but she gets one anyway.

“Sleeping, I assume?” A voice perks up beside her. “Well, at least before someone started talking.”

Her head lops to the side, and Castorice almost has a heart attack upon seeing that familiar pair of eyes wide awake. She immediately jerks her head away, to look at the ceiling—or basically anywhere but at Cipher.

“You're…awake?” Castorice says.

“Hmm, I'm talking, aren't I?” Cipher replies.

Castorice feels bad for waking Cipher up over her senseless ruminations. She turns to her left, leaving her back facing Cipher. “...Sorry. You should rest.”

A moment passes.

“...I'm actually feeling quite refreshed!” Cipher answers. “Besides, I don't think I'll be able to sleep if there's something weighing on your mind.” Castorice can't see the Thief, but she's sure a smirk is already glued onto Cipher’s face. “So spit it out already, will you, Journalist Homebody?”

Castorice scruples, unsure if she should even admit her thoughts aloud. She gets a poke on her back in response. And then another. And another. And—

“I know you're not asleep,” Cipher teases in a sing-song voice.

The journalist pulls the covers closer to herself, shimmying further into it. She groans, shutting her eyes forcefully.

“I just,” Castorice starts, “...never had someone else in my bed before. Not my friends; rarely my family.”

“Am I an exception then?”

“...I don't know.”

Castorice gives her ambivalence a moment to settle.

“Cipher,” Castorice calls out again. “What…would you call us?” She curls in on herself, clearing her throat. “...Partners in crime? Acquaintances? Friends?” She lists out the first few things that come to mind. “We don't exactly have the most normal relationship, do we?”

The journalist hears Cipher exhale, and flinches when she feels a touch on her back again.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” Cipher asks indifferently.

“...No?” Castorice responds. She shudders, feeling Cipher beginning to trace mindless patterns on her back.

Cipher chuckles at Castorice’s unsure reply. “Then…we can be whatever you want to be.”

Castorice almost wants to spin around and grab Cipher by the shoulders to demand an explanation to the meaning behind the thief's words.

Whatever she wants them to be…?

What did she want them to be? She's always thought of Cipher as a friend. But thinking of Cipher as possibly more? Castorice feels her face heat up at the thought.

At one point, she feels Cipher’s touch disappear. She hears ruffling from the covers as Cipher presumably lies back on her back, yet she doesn't say anything.

She doesn't know how much time has passed, but Castorice gathers the courage to take a peek behind her, pushing herself up by the elbows.

“Cipher, I—” Castorice starts, but cuts herself off almost immediately.

Cipher has her eyes closed and definitely asleep now.

Castorice flops back onto the bed, slightly disappointed and simultaneously relieved about it.

She doesn't know if she even wants to admit—or even explain—her inexplicable feelings towards Cipher, but she's sure it's bound to happen one way or another.

Besides, if Cipher’s starting to become more truthful, then perhaps it's about time Castorice does too.

★☆★☆★

“Uhm, remind me again Journalist Homebody—what's our game plan exactly?”

Castorice spins around, and almost immediately jumps back in surprise when she's met with Cipher’s face directly in front of her.

Cipher’s too close for Castorice’s comfort, especially since…whatever had happened at her home the other day.

She doesn't necessarily want to speak—let alone think—about what had transpired that night, but Castorice would be lying if she said that her interactions with Cipher hadn't changed.

Sure, Cipher was her usual self, but the journalist found herself analysing her every action.

The random looks, the teasing, and even the slightest touch from Cipher, would send Castorice reeling—overwhelmed by the smallest things.

And Cipher—oh, Cipher—seemed completely oblivious to the effect she has on the journalist. There have been certain instances where Cipher’s teases become downright… flirtatious(?), not to mention the comment about being ‘whatever she wanted’ (Castorice still doesn't know what that even means).

Truthfully, Castorice still isn't sure if Cipher’s saying it purely as a joke, or if she's truly genuine. A deep part of her hopes that it's the latter, but then again, it could all just be Castorice reading too much into things.

Currently, the thief only stares back at her, wide-eyed and smiling, as though unaware of the effect her action had on Castorice.

Snapping back into the present, the journalist ensures that there's a more tolerable distance between them, before relaying the information to Cipher.

“We’ll hide here and wait until Councillor Caenis and Economou appear,” Castorice states. “While they're going about their exchanges, I'll take a few photos of them as evidence.”

“And then…?” Cipher nods.

“...That's the whole plan?” Castorice frowns. “We'll have all the evidence we need to expose Councillor Caenis.”

“What?!” Cipher slides down the brick wall behind her, groaning. “That's really anticlimactic.”

“We can't all be as reckless as the esteemed Thief Star,” Castorice jokes. Was it a bit too soon? Maybe. But Cipher laughs at her comment, so Castorice will take that as a win.

“I guess not,” Cipher shrugs. “What time are they supposedly coming again?”

Castorice looks down at her watch, before answering. “Economou said they had planned to meet around 11 p.m.?”

“11 p.m.?!” Cipher shrieks. “It's literally 10 p.m. right now.”

“I know.”

Cipher is baffled, eyes widened. “Are you expecting us to wait that long?”

“They could come at any time,” Castorice reasons. “I wouldn't want to miss out on this opportunity when we're this far into our investigation.”

The Thief huffs, rolling her eyes. “I don't even know why you invited me to come along. This is way lamer than I expected it to be.”

“I invited you because I enjoy your company,”—was what Castorice would've said if she was feeling bold. But like many times before, she's come to the conclusion that she's simply…not.

And Castorice should be fine with that by now. Should, at least.

Instead, she opts to play it off. “...If I recall correctly, you volunteered to come, didn't you?”

“But—” Cipher raises a finger, preparing to speak, but Castorice can visually see when the words wither away on her tongue. “Huh. I guess I actually did agree to it.”

The journalist’s lips twitch upwards. “...I suppose you're stuck with me then.”

A laugh ripples out from Cipher, and it's at this moment that Castorice realises she's been staring way too much—too long—at the Thief. She backs away further, turning to face away from Cipher. Because she's sure that if she doesn't, her heart will soon jump out of her chest, and she'll crumple to the floor in a mess of sappy, unfiltered emotions.

Composing herself, Castorice fiddles away on her camera, ensuring that everything was in working condition. She thinks about random sections to include in her upcoming article, and every so often, glances towards Cipher.

Cipher had given up on complaining, resigning herself to sitting down on the ground, and scrolling through her phone. Castorice definitely wouldn't mind if Cipher continues to do that, but—

An exaggerated sigh comes out of Cipher.

Castorice slowly turns her head, raising a brow at the Thief. Cipher doesn't elaborate, so Castorice focuses on waiting and fixing her camera instead.

And then it happens again.

And again.

And—

Cipher sighs every few minutes—dramatic and loud. So much so that Castorice is convinced that Cipher’s doing it deliberately.

So it's not surprising when Castorice turns around once again, only to be met with a smug grin plastered on the thief's face.

“What?” Cipher says, like she hasn't been sighing for the past 20 minutes.

“Are you going to stop?” Castorice furrows her brows. “They could be here any time soon.”

“Stop what?”

“Sighing.”

“I'm not sighing.”

Perhaps Castorice regrets inviting Cipher. It's her turn to sigh, “...Nevermind.”

Castorice peeps around the corner of the wall, and doesn't sense any one else. Marmoreal Market is empty for the most part, except for the odd shop owners pulling down their shutters and locking up their stalls. It's deserted—perfect for a secret meet up, but also an odd place for one.

Castorice steps back, and feels her back bump against…something?

She turns on her heel, caught off guard when she realises it's Cipher behind her.

“I'm bored,” Cipher simply states.

“...Sorry.” Ignoring the burning sensation on her face, Castorice relents, “you don't have to stay here with me.”

It's not like she'll never see Cipher again. She'll be fine on her own anyway—take a few pictures and Castorice will officially be done.

Castorice expects Cipher to run off immediately, but a sigh—not over the top this time—is heard instead.

“It's fine, I'll stay,” Cipher shrugs.

“Huh?” Castorice is dumbfounded.

“I wasn't really being that serious,” Cipher continues.

“...Oh.”

Cipher crosses her arms, smirking. After a moment, she points a finger at the journalist. “Besides, judging from that look on your face…you definitely want me to stay.”

Castorice feels the blush on her face spread to the tips of her ears. Of course Cipher was teasing her now of all times, because why wouldn't she?

“Y-You…!” Castorice huffs, nudging Cipher by the shoulder. “You're making fun of me again.”

Cipher acts clueless, feigns innocence—the usual routine. But just as Castorice wants to hit Cipher, the Thief goes quiet. Her ears perk up, and she immediately reaches a finger over to Castorice’s lips.

“Shhh,” Cipher shushes.

Castorice obeys—whether intentionally or not—because she doesn't think she can focus when Cipher’s finger lies against her lips. She stands still like a statue, and finally moves when she hears something:

The sound of an engine.

Although muffled at first, it grows louder by the second.

Castorice steps away from Cipher, crouching down to peer around the corner of the wall. Cipher follows suit, standing behind the journalist to take a look too.

The streets are still empty, and eventually, the engine stops rumbling. After waiting in anticipation, they finally see a man walking into the main streets of Marmoreal Market. He looks down at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.

He stands there for a while, but a woman soon meets him in the middle. Castorice recognises her immediately—it's Caenis.

She's dressed in darker, more loose clothing this time, most likely in an attempt to disguise herself. The two exchange glances, and begin talking. Castorice can't really hear what they're saying, but she pulls out her camera from before, focusing on the task at hand.

They talk for some time—probably too long judging from the annoyance evident on Economou’s face—but after a while, they shake hands. A brief case is pulled out, and Castorice makes sure to capture that important detail.

They do a fair bit of chatting for what is supposed to be a secret transaction, and Castorice wants to lean closer to figure out just what they're talking about.

But she's grabbed by the arm, and pulled backwards such that they're both crashing to the ground. Cipher clamps a hand over the journalist’s mouth, and Castorice thinks she almost stops breathing. She glances up, noting that Cipher’s in the same predicament as well. But probably for completely different reasons.

A light flashes on the main street, and she hears voices stepping closer towards them.

“Is someone there?” A voice that Castorice recognises calls out, cautious.

She prays that they don't come any closer, because not only will their whole plan be in shambles, but also since Castorice is feeling rather self-conscious about their current position.

Thankfully, the light disappears before either one step into the alleyway that Castorice and Cipher are currently in. Only when she's sure they're far away, does Castorice finally heave a sigh of relief.

Next, she's whispering into Cipher’s hand. She doesn't think she can take being this close to Cipher much longer.

“Cipher.”

The Thief reacts instantly, unleashing her grip on Castorice. They both stand up, patting the dust and dirt off themselves.

“Sorry about that,” Cipher flashes a sheepish grin. “Caenis was paranoid that someone was here, and I didn't want our cover to be blown.”

“Oh,” Castorice says first. Followed by, “you could hear them?”

“Duh,” Cipher gestures towards her own ears. “They weren't really talking about anything interesting though. It was mainly just Economou really buttering Caenis up.”

“Oh,” Castorice replies dumbly. Well, that's yet another new fact she's learnt about Cipher.

Castorice clears her throat, before raising her camera. She gestures towards it.

“...I think we've got everything we need.”

★☆★☆★

She knocks on the door in three swift, consecutive, taps.

Her raps feel impossibly loud amongst the silence falling upon Dawncloud today, but after a few moments, she receives a reply.

“Come in.”

The voice is muffled, so much so that Castorice can barely register the words. She wants to turn away but she can't exactly give any excuses to back out now.

The journalist feels her unease grow tenfold simply at the thought of what lies behind the door. She reaches a hand out, intending to follow the command, but she hesitates. Her hand is left hovering over the doorknob, because of course she decides to freeze up now.

It just seems so surreal—that a singular door is what's standing between them and the end of their ‘mission’.

In just under 10 minutes, they're going to finally be done with their months-long operation, and Castorice doesn't know how to feel about it.

“Hey,” A hand settles upon Castorice’s shoulder. “I'll be with you the whole time, alright?”

Her heart pounds, picking up its pace, and Castorice isn't sure whether it's due to her anxiety, or because of Cipher’s touch. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't help.

Steadying herself, Castorice glances back at the subtle smile Cipher gives her. She's sure the thief is way more excited at this than she personally is—but who could blame her? Caenis is the exact person that ‘Thief Star’ is against. Oddly enough, thinking about Thief Star fills her with an unprecedented spur of confidence.

“Mm,” the journalist nods in reply. She lets out a shaky exhale, before finally, gripping onto the doorknob firmly. She twists it, pushing the door open, and presents themselves to Councillor Caenis.

The Councillor sits at her desk, elbows resting on the tabletop. She looks exactly like the Caenis from the election—greying hair neatly tied into a braid, as well as a charming smile that seems too big to be natural.

Castorice shivers at the sight, but composes herself immediately. She hurries forward, reaching out a hand to the Councillor. Cipher trails closely behind, glancing around the office.

“Councillor Caenis, it's a pleasure to meet you,” Castorice says, acting eager. It's all an act, but hopefully Caenis buys it.

“Likewise.” Caenis nods, hand gripping firmly onto the journalist’s. “You're Castorice Dios, from ‘The Flame-Chase Chronicles’, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Castorice smiles, despite not liking Caenis’s oddly pretentious tone.

“And…you?” Caenis releases Castorice’s hand from her grasp, eyeing Cipher.

“Me?” Cipher points at herself, raising an eyebrow. “Who I am isn't important—”

“Sorry, this is my…assistant!” Castorice cuts Cipher off, sneakily jabbing her by the elbow. “She's new to the job and...we're just very thankful you agreed to this interview.”

Even if Caenis is taken aback by Cipher’s remark, she doesn't let it show. She gestures to the seats across her, letting Castorice and Cipher settle down.

“We'll have to be quick, I have other meetings to attend within the hour, so I'm afraid I won't be able to stay long, ” Caenis mentions once the pair have sat down. “On another note, my secretary organised this meeting, but she didn't provide me with all of the details. I'm hoping you could do so?”

“Oh, I'll be sure to be quick then,” Castorice pulls out her notepad from her bag. “It's merely a few questions about the elections—it won't take up too much of your time.”

“Hm, ask away then,” Caenis says.

Castorice looks down at her notepad, randomly picking out a question to pose to the Councillor.

“Since your debate with Candidate Eacus, the public has been a roar of differing opinions. With the elections just around the corner, how confident are you in your victory?” Castorice asks with poised professionalism.

In turn, Caenis answers with renowned confidence that can only come with years of experience. Castorice would say she's being a tad too pompous, but the more Caenis speaks, the better. They needed to kill time either way (it's also a nice bonus to let the Councillor's guard down).

After a few more redundant questions, Caenis seems to grow impatient. She sneaks hurried glances over to the clock in her office, and her replies become even more rushed.

“Is that all?” She frowns. “I do have to get going soon, just so you know.”

“I do actually have my own question to ask you,” Cipher—who's been silently observing this whole time—finally speaks. “Don't worry, it's the last one you'll answer.”

She gives Castorice a wink–an action that the journalist recognises as Cipher’s cue—and extends a hand.

It's time.

Castorice obediently rummages through her bag, pulling out a single piece of paper, and passes it to Cipher. Caenis observes by the sidelines, puzzled.

“My question is…” Cipher trails off. She stands up abruptly, right before slamming the piece of paper on to the desk. She slides it in Caenis’s direction, urging for her to read. “What are your thoughts about bribery?”

Caenis freezes at the question. Her eyes quickly scan the headline on the paper and they double in size almost instantly. Castorice had spent an embarrassing amount of time to come up with the title, but in the end she went with something simple—something that gets the point across immediately. And it seems like Caenis does understand, given the almost exaggerated expression in her face.

Castorice wishes she could have captured it on camera—maybe even use it for a follow up article—but now probably isn't a good time for that.

“I-I—” Caenis’s calm act falters, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost carelessly. “I won't stand for such baseless accusations!”

“Well if you read further, I'm pretty sure my question isn't unwarranted,” Cipher shrugs.

Caenis huffs, exasperated. She's already been caught in the act, and now, confronted, yet it seems as though the Councillor doesn't want to back down. She snatches the paper off her desk, crushing it into a ball in her fist. “This doesn't prove anything.”

“It doesn't?” Cipher repeats, her voice raising. “Tell that to Economou, and all the other businesses you've conspired with. Tell that to all the innocent civilians you've harmed with your policies. Tell that—”

“I think it's about time you leave,” Caenis urges, firmly. Her smile disappears, morphing into a frown of discontent and irritation.

“Are you seriously still denying the truth?” Cipher rolls her eyes. “I've literally been in both your office and your home—I've seen the fruits of all your dishonest labour, and I know for a fact that you're as corrupt as they come.”

Caenis’s eyes land on Cipher in realisation. “You're…”

Thief Star. Cipher flashes a smug grin.

“Y’know Caenis, I really gotta hand it to you” Cipher ignores the Councillor. “The fact that you can lie so much and for so long—even I, have to bend a knee to that level of lying.”

Her fists bang against the desk. “Leave. Now.”

“I think I'll stay,” Cipher hums. “You, however, should probably go. It's about time for your next appointment, isn't it?”

Caenis doesn't say anything, merely glancing towards the clock.

Castorice does too, and she knows it's about anytime now that they'll get away with this. The clock ticks, and Castorice counts in her head.

Three.

Two.

One—

Someone pounds on the door in three quick strikes.

Castorice jumps up from her seat, and all three heads turn towards the door. It's opened the next second—revealing Captain Krateros. Only Caenis is shocked by his sudden appearance.

“Councillor Caenis. A word?” He utters.

Caenis’s face drops, realising the reality of her current predicament. Still standing at the doorway, Krateros gives Castorice a nod, and narrows his eyes at Cipher.

Scratching the back of her neck, the journalist decides it's about time they leave. She hurriedly grabs Cipher by the hand—before Cipher can insult Caenis further and before Krateros suspects Cipher—dragging them both out of Dawncloud, and back into the streets of Okhema.

A smile lingers on Cipher’s face the entire time.

When they're right back at Castorice’s car, the journalist fiddles through her bag, searching for her keys. She doesn't even notice Cipher tugging on her arm, until a voice drags her away from her thoughts.

“Uhh Journalist Homebody? Mind letting go of my hand? It's kinda starting to hurt,” Cipher says, gesturing towards their clasped hands.

“S-sorry!” Castorice turns away, both hands now free to search through her bag.

“It's fine, it's fine,” Cipher brushes off the apology. “Though, I have to say, seeing this side of you is definitely…interesting.”

Castorice ignores her, not because she has nothing to say (how do you even respond to that?!), but because she doesn't think she can handle any of Cipher’s further teasing if she were to do so.

When they finally settle into Castorice’s car, the silence almost painful, reality hits the journalist: They've managed to take down Caenis. Sure, there would be further formal police investigations into the matter, but there's a high chance that Castorice and Cipher have indeed managed to incriminate the Councillor.

Between Cipher’s flare for the dramatics and their not so legal ways of collecting evidence, Castorice is merely in disbelief that everything went as well as it did.

“Huh. That…actually went better than expected.”

Cipher’s off-handed comment takes the journalist by surprise. Initially, she huffs, lips tilting upwards. But a few seconds later, she's breaking out into laughter. Of all things that she could be doing, Castorice just…laughs.

She laughs. Hard. So much so that it almost seems like she's faking it. Tears brim at the corner of her eyes by the sheer intensity of her laughter, and Castorice feels like she's short on breath from doing so.

For a moment, Cipher stares at her like a deer in the headlights, as though appalled by Castorice acting like a mad woman. But soon enough, Cipher cackles.

That somehow makes Castorice laugh even louder, leaving her car full of a cycle of giggles and howling. For how long they continued laughing, Castorice isn't sure. But she just knows that by the end of it, she's doubled over, arms wrapping themselves around her waist. Their impromptu laughing session soon dies down, and Cipher—who's in between tears—is the first to speak up.

“Geez Journalist Homebody. I wasn't even trying to make a joke,” Cipher chuckles. “What's got you in such a hysterical mood today? Was it because we took down Caenis?”

The journalist pauses, still out of breath from laughing so hard.

“N-not entirely,” Castorice answers. “I'm just…happy? Doing this thing with you, I mean.”

It wasn't a lie. Castorice doesn't know when was the last time she laughed this much with someone, let alone laugh at all. Looking back now, she only recalls Cipher being there each time.

She's laughed—not to mention, smiled—more times than she can count ever since Cipher and her antics made their way into Castorice’s life. She already knows that the Thief holds a special place in her heart, but it all feels too real now that she's admitting it out loud.

“Aww, I'm honoured to receive Journalist Homebody’s praise,” Cipher teases. “It's good that you're happy—it suits you.”

Castorice blushes, murmuring a small ‘thanks’ before turning to stare down at her steering wheel.

“Uhm, would you want me to drive you back to your apartment?” Castorice asks, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel to distract herself from Cipher’s blinding grin.

“Are you kidding—why would I go home now?!” Cipher exclaims. “We have to celebrate!”

“...We aren't even sure if Caenis will be charged. Shouldn't we save the celebrating for—”

“Shh! C’mon don't sell yourself short Journalist Homebody,” Cipher reassures. “You put in so much effort in investigating Caenis’s schemes. There's no way she can lie herself out of this now!”

“But still—” Castorice frowns, unsure.

“Are you that unwilling to spend time with little ol’ me?”

“N-no, of course not!”

“Guess it's settled then,” Cipher smirks, victorious.

Looking back at Cipher, Castorice berates herself for giving in to Cipher so easily. She supposes spending time with Cipher isn't too bad though…

“Where would you like to go then?” Castorice sighs.

Cipher lifts a finger, as though about to suggest something, but drops it after a few seconds. “Huh, I didn't really think this far.”

“You're the one who suggested we should celebrate, yet you don't know how we should celebrate?” Castorice raises a brow, unsurprised.

“Well it was kind of an impulse suggestion?” Cipher shrugs.

After an awkwardly long pause, Cipher adds, “...Besides, I'm fine with going anywhere as long as you're there.”

Internally, Castorice curses Cipher’s ability for saying such sly things on the fly. Oddly enough—maybe due to the adrenaline still coursing through her veins from their confrontation with Caenis—Castorice finds it in herself to question Cipher about it. About all her questionably not-so-platonic comments.

“What…What do you mean by that?” Castorice blurts out.

Cipher cocks her head. “By what?”

“I meant your comments about…well, me,” Castorice explains, the words coming out slowly. “Like how you randomly mention things about me, or like just now—how you enjoy my company.”

“Isn't it pretty obvious? I was honestly being pretty direct,” Cipher says.

“I…I just don't think there's that much to say about me, is there? Let alone a reason to,” the journalist frowns, huffing. “Y-You don't necessarily have to tell me, of course, I was merely curious.”

Upon seeing Castorice’s boldness fading, Cipher cackles. It's definitely an alarming reaction for their current tone of conversation, but Castorice is used to this by now.

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you, Journalist Homebody?” The corner of her lips perk upwards. “I just say these things because they're what I like about you.” She leans back on her seat, crossing her arms. She's looking out the window of the car so Castorice can't analyse her expression—relying on tone alone to decipher the true meaning behind Cipher’s words. “You may not believe—or even realise—it, but you're way more interesting than you let on.”

“...What do you mean?” Castorice repeats her earlier words, but now, they come out in a shaky breath.

“You're really more oblivious than I thought, you know that?” Cipher states her own tone light and easy. “You're way too nice for your own good, you get annoyed really easily, you can't stand it when there's a traffic jam, you're super fun to tease—I could go on and on about all the small things I've learnt about you since we first met. But I think we would be stuck in your car forever if I did that,” Cipher chuckles. “I…I say all these things because they're what I like about you—they're what makes you…well, you! Besides, someone clearly needs to tell you that you're an amazing, wonderful, person, because you certainly don't believe that.”

Castorice doesn't know what to say, she shrinks into her seat at Cipher’s words. She doesn't want to believe that Cipher could possibly be—

No, of course not. Cipher couldn't—no, wouldn't. It's an unrealistic thought, and Castorice is too scared to face the possibility of Cipher feeling the same way.

She's probably going to turn around any second now and yell that it's all just a joke—that she can't believe Castorice actually fell for it.

But Cipher doesn't.

She merely lets her confession linger in the air, until Castorice somehow manages to get her next sentence out.

“...If you say it like that I'm going to misunderstand,” Castorice says, barely hearing her own voice over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

Finally (or maybe unfortunately), Cipher turns around, locking eyes with Castorice. The journalist knows she's doomed from there.

Cipher stares at her—not just with her usual confidence—but also with deep sincerity. Cipher looks at her like she…matters, and Castorice can already feel her resolve fading away.

Like before, she doesn't want to believe in such a possibility, but when Cipher looks at her in such a breathtaking manner, Castorice doesn't think she'll last long.

“There's no misunderstanding here.” A soft smile settles on the Thief’s face. “I mean what I said.”

“Y-you’re joking,” Castorice insists, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Nope. I really do like you, Journalist Homebody,” Cipher teases, noticing the red spreading across Castorice’s face. “All of your quirks and your flaws—I like all of you.”

“Oh,” Castorice blurts out. “Since…when?”

“Are you seriously gonna make me pull out a calendar now?” Cipher jokes. “I, uh, honestly didn't think I'd get this far. But I'd say somewhere around the first time we hung out—that's probably when I started noticing your actions more.”

“Oh,” Castorice says again. It's already been months since then, and she can't believe that Cipher is practically confessing to her in her car right now.

Cipher giggles again at the flushed expression on Castorice’s face. She inches closer towards Castorice, placing her palm over the journalist’s.

“What do you want, Journalist Homebody?” Cipher whispers, enunciating each and every word.

Castorice feels a shiver crawl up her spine. Letting out yet another shaky exhale, Castorice lets herself believe.

“...I want whatever you want,” Castorice swallows, echoing Cipher’s words all those days ago. I want you—she wants to say.

But before Castorice even realises it, Cipher’s already leaning in to her. She comes as fast as she goes, and it takes the journalist a few seconds to process what Cipher had done. It's barely a kiss, and more so a peck on the lips, but it leaves Castorice a mess.

Her breath quickens, face flushing even further, as she stares back at Cipher. Cipher’s still smiling, but her eyes flicker in various directions—as though attempting to analyse Castorice’s current expression. She doesn't make any move to lean in again, leaving Castorice (desperately) wanting.

Perhaps it's due to the overwhelming sense of relief that floods Castorice upon realising that her feelings are indeed reciprocated, or merely her improved confidence as of late, but Castorice doesn't think she can keep her feelings bubbled up anymore.

Without any further hesitation, Castorice surges forward, reaching an arm around Cipher in order to close the already non-existent distance between them.

Cipher gasps at the contact, but doesn't pull away. Instead, her eyes flutter shut and she reaches out for the journalist, deepening the kiss. A hand flies up, settling onto Castorice’s shoulder.

Truthfully, Castorice doesn't know what she's doing. Despite reading a variety of romance-related works, she hasn't exactly put that knowledge into practical use. Regardless, Castorice just does what feels…right. Her hand wanders, tangling her fingers into grey locks of hair. The other remains pressed into the seat below her, steadying herself from leaning too far over. Their lips move in slow, hesitant movements—neither one wanting to overstep any boundaries.

For as much as Castorice self-inserts into said books, she doesn't think fiction could ever compare to her current reality, where she's kissing Cipher in such a passionate and drawn-out manner.

Sure, the seat belt digging into her sides is uncomfortable, and the centre console between them forces Castorice to lean over at an awkward angle, but frankly, Castorice doesn't care anymore. She hasn't for a long time. She's content with drowning in the feeling of right where she is.

A squeak leaves Castorice as the hand on her shoulder clenches down, a sudden pain flaring up where fingers drag. She immediately reaches up, pushing Cipher away by the shoulders, albeit reluctantly.

Cipher attempts to lean back in, but fails when Castorice holds firm. The Thief smiles sheepishly, murmuring an apology.

From there, they blink at each other in silence. They're both panting, taking in deep breaths of air as they revel in the lingering feelings of their shared kiss. Looking at Cipher now, Castorice notes her messy hair and the slight flush that's beginning to crawl up her neck. It almost makes Castorice want to kiss her again. Almost.

“Your face is red,” Castorice states.

“...Yours is too,” Cipher replies.

The journalist nudges Cipher by the shoulder, rolling her eyes. The action spurs her on, and she continues teasing Castorice. She's about to complain, but Cipher leans in again, catching Castorice off guard.

Her car is filled with laughter, joy, and hope—no longer just her in the car alone.

Looking back now, Castorice isn't sure what she was so afraid of in the first place.

★☆★☆★

Life moves on, as it always does.

After Caenis had been exposed, Okhema went into shambles for a while.

When the news first came out following Caenis’s arrest, things at the office were rather…hectic to say the least. The influx of information about Caenis’s crimes—that even Castorice wasn't aware of—left the journalists rushing for deadlines to report the situation.

After being labelled as a ‘scandal’, Caenis withdrew from running for Council Head, causing the elections to be postponed, and the remaining Councillors scrambled to ‘save’ what was left of the Council of Elders. The backlash they received was extensive, with growing protests and uncertainty about the ruling Council, but the marching protests eventually turned into massive celebrations—with crowds of Okhemans ecstatic over Caenis having her misdeeds exposed.

Thankfully, it seemed like things were settling down for the most part. With Caenis being officially charged, many Okhemans at least commended the court’s efficiency in serving justice. From what Castorice had heard from Krateros, the overwhelming amount of evidence against Caenis was likely to ascertain her guilt. Even now, the journalist is still shocked that she herself had played a part in uncovering these wrongdoings.

Her keyboard clacks as she hits ‘send’ once again. Her draft has finally been submitted and she has no other work to do for her half-day of work.

Castorice cracks her knuckles and stretches her arms out in front of her, taking in a deep breath of air. Then, as per usual, she shuts off her laptop, slipping it in her backpack.

What she doesn't expect is to feel the rough surface of a crumpled piece of paper.

Pulling it out, Castorice immediately recognises the same scrawled handwriting that she could recognise from a mile away. She smiles to herself as she reads it:

The answer was obvious: A cat.

It's different from the usual letters she receives, sure, but Castorice laughs by herself once she finishes skimming through the note.

Castorice wonders when exactly Cipher had picked up writing riddles, but she's thankful that it's not another one of her pranks.

“Boo.”

Castorice jumps up from her seat, spinning around to face a person she knows all too well.

“C-Cipher!” Castorice stammers. “You're here? Actually…how are you here? Inside my workplace?”

“Aglaea let me in.” An easy grin flashes across the thief's face. “But…it wouldn't have been too difficult to sneak in here either way.”

Castorice shuts the idea down before it can begin to form because she knows that Cipher’s being serious—and she doesn't want to receive another phone call that Cipher had been arrested for trespassing.

“You're talking with Aglaea again?” Castorice realises next.

She knew that Aglaea and Cipher had a complicated past with the little details that Cipher had let slip, but she wasn't aware that their relationship was on the mend. With how Cipher mentioned it so casually, it seems like things were going well, and Castorice finds herself feeling happy for them.

“Yeah.” Cipher gives a slow nod. “I guess we are.”

She doesn't elaborate further and Castorice doesn't push for answers.

“Anyways, did you like the riddle?” Cipher asks. “I'm pretty sure it's my best one to date!”

“It's your best one because it's your only one,” Castorice comments.

Cipher looks at the journalist, eyes enlarged, a hand against her own chest. She huffs, as though she's genuinely offended by Castorice’s words. Castorice knows that it's an exaggerated response—because she's pretty sure she's seen such riddles in books for children before.

Her lips upturn into a small smile as Cipher continues to whine. She reaches a hand out, grasping on to Cipher’s. Castorice shudders as their hands entwined together—still not used to the warmth of another. She doesn't think she can ever get over it.

The action manages to get Cipher to quieten down before her coworkers complain.

“...Should we get going?” Castorice whispers.

“Yep, lead the way!”

They say goodbye to Aglaea on the way out, and head to Castorice’s car.

The drive feels longer than Castorice remembers. Granted, she's only taken this route once a year, but maybe it's just the nerves of having someone come with her for the first time in three years that makes everything move slower.

Cipher remains silent for most of the ride. Yet another thing she's learnt about Cipher these past few months, was that Cipher is actually relatively intuitive to others’ emotions. It seems like this time was no different.

The low hum of the engine, and the static noise from the radio are what keeps them company for most of the car ride. Usually she would find the sounds soothing, but today, Castorice finds it to be unnerving.

Eventually, they reach their destination. Neither make a move to exit.

Castorice feels her lungs constrict and her hands clench around the steering wheel. She almost wants to pinch herself so that she can determine whether this is all a dream.

Before she can do so, Cipher slides a hand over hers, pulling her fists away from the steering wheel.

“Hey,” Cipher whispers. “You doing okay?”

“I'm fine. Just…nervous.”

“I could always just wait in the car if it'll make you feel better.”

“N-No, I…” Castorice declines. “I want you there.”

Cipher smiles. Warm, soft, and full of understanding. Her thumb caresses Castorice’s hand. “...Then I'll be there.”

They walk hand in hand to the gravesite. Castorice is thankful for Cipher’s presence—for both pushing her and grounding her.

The setting sun casts down a warm orange glow around the graveyard. It looks and feels just as she remembers—desolate and somber.

Glancing down at the tombstone before her, Castorice freezes. It happens every year and it seems like she's not breaking the habit any time soon. She'd usually stare at it, reading the engravings over and over, a part of her still in denial. But this time, she returns from her thoughts after a matter of seconds, placing down the bouquet of flowers she had brought.

“Polyxia.” The name comes out like a foreign word. Castorice wrings her hands together as she takes a deep breath. “It's been a while… hasn't it?”

The wind blows. Crows caw. And she doesn't receive a response.

“Uhm, t-this is Cipher.”

“Hey.”

“I'm…sorry. For not visiting often. And…” Castorice pauses. She huffs glancing at Cipher. She squeezes their hands tighter.

“...A lot has happened since I last came here.”

Castorice doesn't know how long she spends recounting every event that's happened since she last visited: The ups, the downs, the close calls, and even the whole scandal related to Caenis. It almost all feels like a dream, or maybe the plot of a low-budget TV show.

Thinking about it now, Castorice is still very much the same person she was all those months ago. She's still a recluse, she still lacks confidence, and she's still as oblivious as ever.

But what's new is Cipher. As the journalist continues to talk, Cipher remains beside her. She's been such a constant in Castorice’s life lately, that Castorice can't even begin to imagine what would have happened if they'd never met.

She's not sure what exactly the future holds—whether ‘Thief Star’ will find their next target, or whether another spout of writer's block will attack Castorice again—but she's confident that with Cipher by her side, they'll be able to face it head-on.