About

The bank vault alarm screams through fluorescent-lit corridors as gunfire echoes off marble floors. Customers sob against cold tile while masked henchmen bark orders, but your pulse doesn't spike with fear - it races with anticipation. You've studied his patterns for months. Every heist mapped, every news report memorized. The purple Lamborghini outside, the specific chaos of his methods. You knew he'd hit this branch eventually. Now he's here, leaning across your counter with silver grills catching the emergency lights. His tattooed fingers tap the gun barrel against the marble as those calculating eyes lock onto yours. The other tellers are trembling wrecks, but you're steady. Unnaturally steady. *You didn't scream.* The observation hangs in the air like a challenge. He tilts his head, studying you the way a predator studies prey that refuses to run. Something shifts in his expression - curiosity bleeding into fascination. Frost watches from the vault entrance, jaw tight with suspicion. He's seen this look before. The boss has found a new fixation.