Breathing heavily, he slumped against the cold wall. The rough stone pressed through the fabric of his clothes, but the pain in his arm eclipsed everything else. With cramped fingers, he pressed his hand to the bleeding wound. Warm blood seeped between his fingers, dripping soundlessly to the floor and leaving dark stains on the pale tiles. To his misfortune, he had nothing with him to stop the bleeding immediately.
The damned cop had hit him in the arm. It was only a deep grazing shot, and yet his arm burned like fire. It wasn't the first time he had been wounded during his missions, but he counted this gunshot wound among the more severe injuries.
Normally, he dealt well with pain. He had learned to shut it out, to banish it to a distant corner of his mind. But now, with the wound fresh and the adrenaline slowly fading, he couldn't manage it. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat, blurred his vision, and drew sweat to his brow. He felt dizzy. Judging by how soaked his clothes felt, he was clearly losing too much blood. The wound seemed deeper than he had assumed.
Damn it. So they were using firearms now to catch him.
With trembling fingers, he pulled his top over his head. As the fabric tore across the wound, he sucked in a sharp breath, but not a sound escaped his lips. At least for the moment, he was alone. He tore a strip of fabric from the outfit he had worn for the heist and bound the wound as tightly as he could.
The pain nearly exploded under the pressure. Black spots danced before his eyes, but he forced himself to remain silent. Screaming was not an option. He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached and focused on breathing steadily. Again and again, he reminded himself not to give in. He hoped the makeshift bandage would at least stop the bleeding for the moment.
With jerky movements, he pulled on his civilian clothes, slipped gloves over his bloodstained hands, and hastily stuffed the soiled thief's outfit into his backpack. Every movement sent a stabbing throb through his arm, but he ignored it. Functioning was all that mattered now.
Using his phone's camera, he briefly checked his face. No blood splatters on his skin, nothing in his hair. He exhaled in relief. Then he doused himself generously with deodorant, followed by his perfume. The sweet, sharp scent settled over the metallic smell of blood like a disguise.
Luckily, he always packed it when preparing for a heist. He didn't even want to imagine how the boss would react if he noticed even a trace of blood on him.
He couldn't afford any mistakes. Perfection was the only way.
So he combed his hair, put everything back into place, and wiped the sweat from his brow—always careful to avoid unnecessary movements. No one was allowed to find out about his blunder.
At last, he took Aurora's Tear from his jacket pocket and examined the work of art he had only just stolen. He slowly turned the diamond in the light, admiring the fine craftsmanship—the mesmerizing play of reflections, the way the light fractured into countless colors and danced within the gemstone.
It was truly an extraordinary piece. More than admirable that its maker, over a thousand years ago, had been capable of such precise work. Back then, the means to cut a diamond had been nowhere near as precise or as easy as they were today.
It was a shame that he would have to hand over this beautiful piece again so soon. Still, it was his damned job, and he would do whatever his boss demanded of him. There was no other option.
While he carefully checked the jewel for possible damage, his breathing gradually began to calm. The steady rhythm helped him regain control. His gunshot wound, on the other hand, continued to throb mercilessly. Carefully, he shifted the fabric aside a little and inspected the makeshift bandage. No fresh blood. It was still holding. He could count himself lucky that it wasn't his dominant arm that had been injured.
That would have been more than just annoying—and far harder to conceal.
He hoped he hadn't left any traces behind in the museum. But even if he had, it was fine. As far as the police database was concerned, he was a ghost. He used his real identity, yes, but his boss had made sure that neither his fingerprints nor his DNA could be traced back to him. At least in that regard, his thief persona was a ghost.
Anything else would have surprised him, given the influence his boss wielded in this city.
He took another deep breath and pushed the pain aside. His gaze swept across the gallery, where so many of his own works hung. None of them were useful anymore; they were merely beautiful to look at. Then he slung his backpack over his shoulder, checked whether he had left anything behind, and once more carefully took Aurora's Tear in his hand.
As he left the gallery, he was met by two men in black suits. They didn't speak to each other, merely exchanged a silent nod in greeting. After all, they had known each other for years, and it wasn't the first job he had carried out this way. The boss's closest confidants knew how he worked, so with every assignment, everything was handled under the strictest secrecy.
Together they went to see the boss. One of the men knocked, spoke quietly with him, and finally nodded. So he entered the office alone and closed the door behind him. The boss was just setting a stack of documents aside.
They were probably promissory notes again, protection requests, or some kind of incriminating paperwork. Knowing the boss, the thought wasn't far-fetched. Though they could just as easily be new projects he was pursuing. It wasn't uncommon for him to steadily absorb more and more of the city.
"Isaac, there you finally are," the boss greeted him with a cool smile. "I was already worried you might have run into trouble. You took a little longer than usual."
Isaac stepped closer to the desk. He forced himself into an upright, composed posture. No trembling was allowed to show—neither in his body nor on his face. Even though the gunshot wound throbbed beneath the bandage with every movement.
"There were more police officers than usual," he replied calmly. "But they will never catch me. After all, you prepared me precisely for situations like this, Boss." He bowed respectfully. "I'm pleased to see you in excellent health."
The boss waved it off. "You're one of my best men, so take pride in what you've achieved so far," he said in a businesslike tone. A dangerous smile played on his lips. "I assume you have what I wanted?"
Isaac nodded, reached into his jacket pocket, and carefully placed Aurora's Tear on the desk.
"The object is in excellent condition. It's remarkably well preserved and suffered no damage when I stole it."
The boss chuckled with satisfaction. "Very good. My business partner will be exceedingly pleased that you took care of this little favor."
He took the necklace, placed it in a small box lined with black velvet, and closed it with deliberate care. Only then did he lift his gaze and study Isaac as if reassessing him.
"Your payment will be in your account tomorrow morning, as usual," the boss said as he carefully shut the box. His eyes fixed on Isaac again. "Noah really did excellent work with his distraction. It's always gratifying to see how many ways we can profitably exploit your thefts."
Isaac felt his body tense involuntarily when the boss mentioned Noah. It was probably only because of that distraction that things had escalated. He clenched his teeth before an unguarded comment could slip out. He hated the attention their jobs were attracting these days.
"Thank you very much, sir," Isaac said with a slight bow. "I'm glad our distraction helps you expand your reach."
"Of course," the boss replied contentedly. "Thanks to your performance, we always have the perfect opportunity to conduct our smaller dealings unnoticed. Noah does an excellent job." A brief smile flickered across his face. "It was an excellent idea of his to support you during your heists."
Isaac's shoulders tensed even more. His boss was apparently the only one who was completely satisfied with Noah's performance. His son brought more chaos into the thefts than necessary. With his own skills, Isaac could have stolen everything he wanted completely unnoticed.
This whole Ink Phantom business had never been his idea. When he stole, he knowingly took his own risks—calculated, controlled. But since Noah had become involved, it was growing increasingly difficult to predict how the police or their surroundings would react.
So far, everything had gone well. But sooner or later, something unforeseen would happen. And then he probably wouldn't get off so lightly.
The gunshot wound throbbed unpleasantly. A dull, drilling pain ran through his arm, making it hard for him to stand upright. Still, he kept up the façade.
"He's putting a lot of effort into putting on a good show," Isaac replied politely.
The boss grinned with satisfaction. He was getting everything he wanted—why wouldn't he be pleased?
"I already have a new assignment for you. I'll send you the necessary information as usual," his boss said almost casually.
"Understood," Isaac replied respectfully. "As always, I will do my best to carry everything out to your satisfaction."
"Good. You may go," his boss said firmly, dismissing him. "Until then, behave as you always do."
Isaac bowed in farewell. "As you wish," he said, and left his boss's office.
He nodded to the men guarding the building and finally left the sprawling estate. The cool air outside made him shiver briefly. His thoughts raced. He needed to take care of his wound as quickly as possible before it became infected.
As if on a silent command, the pain flared up again—so intense that Isaac flinched.
He would have to stitch the wound. Hopefully, he still had enough supplies at home. Once again, he was glad it wasn't his right hand that had been injured. His left arm felt almost numb below the gunshot wound and throbbed unpleasantly. The urge to simply tear off the damned pressure bandage was hard to ignore.
On top of that, he still had to think about how to deal with the last problem.
The police officer who had seen him during the theft… somehow he seemed familiar. But when had he seen him before? It had been too dark to recognize him, and yet his voice had sounded familiar. Still, he couldn't say for sure—the alarm had been too loud.
He had a very small circle of acquaintances, and he couldn't really call any of them friends. In that moment, he cursed himself for paying so little attention to other people.
Though it was probably irrelevant anyway. Whenever he stole something, he was always completely disguised. Neither his face nor his hair was visible. Not even a scrap of skin showed. His camouflage was perfect—and it had to be, given his appearance. If anyone were to see his white hair or his red eyes, he'd be finished.
He was overthinking everything again, his thoughts circling the theft. He only hoped that no one was on to him.
No… everything would have worked out. No one would have recognized him, and that police officer wasn't relevant either.
As so often, he should focus on the things he could actually deal with.
___
Isaac was just about to pull off his sweater when there was a knock at his apartment door. He sighed in annoyance and pulled it back down as the knocking came again. It was far too late for the mailman, and it couldn't be a neighbor either. He always made sure there were no points of contact with others—and yet the mailman still occasionally managed to leave a package with a neighbor.
He forced a neutral expression as he opened the door. There was nothing he wanted more than to finally get rid of this bandage; he could barely feel his fingers anymore, and the pain was damn unpleasant.
But whoever he had been expecting, it wasn't the person now standing in front of him.
"Evening," Noctis said cheerfully.
Isaac blinked. "Noctis?"
Noctis examined him critically and slipped past him into the apartment. Internally, Isaac counted to three and then closed the door again.
"What are you doing here?" Isaac asked. "And since when can you use doors?"
"Since a certain someone said he wished I would."
Isaac snorted.
"As if you've ever cared about what I want."
"Aww, don't say it like that. Of course I care about what's going on with you, my dear Isaac," Noctis said in a teasing tone. He set a bag down on the small living room table. The scent of warm food spread through the room. "You must be hungry after the mission."
Isaac was hungry—famished, even. But first he needed to take care of his wound, preferably without an audience.
"Take it with you. I'm not hungry."
"I even brought you your favorite meal," Noctis replied, unfazed, and began setting the table as if he lived there. "Don't be so grumpy and sit down before it gets cold."
As always, he made himself comfortable. Too comfortable.
He settled in as if he were right at home—but that evening, Isaac had no patience for Noctis's games.
"Noctis, I'm serious. I'm tired and I want to sleep."
Noctis paused and finally really looked at him. His gaze traveled over Isaac's face, lingering a moment too long on his eyes.
"You look like shit."
Isaac snorted dryly. If he looked the way he felt, then he definitely had a problem.
"I just need a shower."
The corner of Noctis's mouth twitched. "What a coincidence. So do I." He tilted his head. "Want to take a shower together, darling?"
"No," Isaac shot back immediately.
Noctis laughed softly, as if he'd expected nothing else.
By now the pain was barely bearable. If he didn't remove the pressure bandage soon, he was sure his arm would explode—or at least it felt that way.
Isaac turned away and headed for his bedroom.
"Then eat and get out afterward," Isaac said, throwing him a glance over his shoulder. "Thanks for your concern, but I really don't have an appetite. Good night."
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped into his dark room and pulled the door closed behind him. But before he could shut it completely, Noctis suddenly stood behind him and held it open with his hand. Isaac groaned in pain as unexpected pressure hit his wound.
"What do you want?" Isaac growled through clenched teeth.
Noctis pushed the door open and entered Isaac's room without asking. Isaac took a step back. Noctis's gaze rested on him, studying him as if he were looking straight into his very core. His expression was serious.
"Take your clothes off," he said.
Isaac blinked at him in confusion. "Why would I undress in front of you?!"
"Stop resisting and just do it," Noctis said implacably. "If you don't, I will. So get on with it."
"You've completely lost your mind. How do you always come up with such idiotic ideas?!" Isaac protested, embarrassed.
But Noctis simply took a calm step toward him. Isaac backed away.
"Damn asshole…" Isaac muttered.
A smug grin played around Noctis's lips. "Don't be so shy, Isaac. I just want to take a quick look at you," he said quietly as his hand grabbed the hem of Isaac's sweater and lifted it. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked often enough."
"Don't touch me, you damn lunatic!" Isaac snapped, slapping Noctis's hand away. Heat rose to his cheeks. "Besides, we were kids back then!"
"You're right," Noctis purred. "Little Isaac was unbelievably cute."
"Idiot," Isaac muttered.
He retreated further until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he lost his balance. With a dull thud, he fell backward onto the mattress. A sharp groan escaped him as the impact jolted his body. Instinctively, he pressed his hand to his injured arm.
Noctis leaned over him, blocking his only escape route. His gaze was stern, almost disapproving.
"Don't fight it, let me take a look," he said—more gently than Isaac had ever heard him speak.
With a few swift movements, he pulled Isaac's sweater off. This time, Isaac allowed it without resistance. He no longer had the strength to fight back; everything pulsed, throbbed, and ached. His left arm felt strange beneath the pressure bandage, and he was simply exhausted.
Noctis seemed to be genuinely worried about him. So why was he acting so stupidly? He hated being touched, yes—but with Noctis, it didn't really matter. They had spent practically their entire childhood together, even if it hadn't been what one would define as a classic friendship. It wasn't the first bandage Noctis had ever put on him, so it was perfectly fine for him to take care of Isaac's wound.
Still, the situation made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He always tried hard to show no weakness. Now openly revealing his injury—his mistake—didn't suit him at all.
When had Noctis last noticed one of his injuries? It had definitely been a long time.
How did Noctis always manage to ignore everything Isaac told him? He took up so much space with his carefree, unpredictable nature that Isaac could focus on nothing but him. Noctis had a talent for unsettling him more than other people ever did, and no matter what Isaac did to keep up his façade, Noctis simply tore it down…
…just as he was doing now.
The pain clouded his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pain shot through his arm. He desperately needed a distraction.
"How did you notice?" he finally asked through clenched teeth. "I was sure I had the pain under control."
Noctis didn't look at him. All of his attention was on the pressure bandage, which he carefully loosened while closely examining the wound.
"I always know exactly what's weighing on you, darling," he finally said with a crooked grin, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Isaac closed his eyes and suppressed a pained groan as the fabric peeled away from his stuck skin.
"This needs stitches," Noctis stated matter-of-factly. Then he briefly lifted his gaze, his expression disapproving. "How were you planning to take care of this anyway? Knowing you—definitely on your own."
"I don't need any help now either," Isaac snapped. "You can go. Stop interfering all the time."
Noctis laughed softly, almost fondly. He gently brushed a hand over Isaac's cheek—a touch that was surprisingly pleasant.
"Nice try, but half-hearted remarks like that won't get rid of me. Just admit that you can't handle this on your own," Noctis said with amusement. "Where's your first-aid kit?"
Isaac exhaled slowly.
"Under the bed. In the shoebox," he replied quietly. Exhaustion weighed heavily in his voice. "Hurry up. I want to sleep."
Noctis raised an eyebrow. "In a shoebox, huh." A mischievous smile flickered across his face. "You sure I won't find anything embarrassing under your bed?"
Isaac's face flushed instantly. "What on earth would be there?!" he snapped. "Do I look like a pubescent teenager?!"
Noctis chuckled softly. "Oh, I wasn't thinking of dirty magazines."
"Then what?" Isaac grimaced. "No—wait. I don't even want to know."
"Are you sure?" Noctis replied casually. "You might like it."
He let go of Isaac, knelt down, and pulled the mentioned shoebox out from under the bed. Then he set it on the mattress and helped Isaac carefully sit on the edge of the bed.
"Cut it out, Noctis," Isaac replied in a quiet, embarrassed voice. He might lack experience, but that didn't mean he didn't know exactly what Noctis was hinting at.
He swallowed the much-needed painkiller and briefly leaned his head back. Moments later, Noctis began cleaning and disinfecting the wound. The burning made Isaac suck in a sharp breath. Unfortunately, a painkiller didn't work as a local anesthetic, so Isaac clenched his teeth.
When Noctis placed the first stitch, a soft, breathless sound escaped Isaac anyway. He flinched involuntarily.
"Damn…"
"Hold still," Noctis murmured calmly without looking up.
The needle slid through skin and flesh again.
Isaac's breathing came in short bursts.
"They using guns now is new, if I'm not mistaken?" Noctis asked in a casual tone.
Isaac couldn't answer right away. He only nodded and drew a deep breath as Noctis tied off the thread. A dull pain spread through his arm.
"First time today," he finally managed in a rough voice. "And there was a cop I've never seen before."
Noctis's hands stilled for a fraction of a second. "Was he the one who shot you?"
"Could be," Isaac replied curtly. "It was hectic. No idea."
Before he could say more, Noctis placed the next stitch. Isaac immediately pressed his lips together and sucked in a sharp breath.
"Hm." Noctis sounded thoughtful. "If I were you, I'd be a bit more careful in the future. It would be a real shame if you died and my favorite toy broke."
"I'm neither your property nor your toy," Isaac hissed through the pain.
Noctis grinned smugly, as if he had expected exactly that reaction.
How Isaac wished he could hit him right now—just to wipe that grin off his face. But he forced himself to stay calm. The wound wasn't fully stitched yet. His body trembled uncontrollably from the pain, and it took enormous effort not to show it.
"I'll find out who it was and what they know," Isaac said tensely. "They had new security measures. I'm pretty sure the new cop has something to do with it."
"Not a bad idea," Noctis murmured. "You should know your enemy."
Isaac shot him an annoyed look.
Coming from someone who is impossible to read.
At the next stitch, a pained groan slipped from his lips. His body jerked, and this time he couldn't suppress the trembling. His strength was spent.
"I told you to hold still," Noctis scolded calmly but firmly.
"Then watch where you're sticking that needle," Isaac growled, his voice shaking.
Noctis let out a quiet breath. "Make a fist—maybe that'll help you control the shaking. I'm almost done, not many stitches left."
"How many?" Isaac asked, only to press his lips together immediately afterward. He made a fist, but it didn't really help.
"Four or five," Noctis said. "You can manage that—you've been through worse."
Isaac nodded silently.
His arm was a minefield of pain. He would never truly get used to it. The trembling grew stronger; his hand moved almost automatically toward Noctis's pant leg—but just as he was about to clutch the fabric, he clenched his fist again and gritted his teeth.
Then he pressed that fist into the mattress.