𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 :--- 𝟏🧿
The Grand Archives were never silent; they breathed with the rustle of ten thousand pages. Elara, the Head Archivist, knew every breath. So, when the rhythm broke—a soft thud near the Restricted Section—she didn't call the guards. She raised her lantern.
The light revealed a man dressed in the slate-grey of the city's shadows. He was dangling from a skylight rope, inches from a display case containing the Sunstone. He froze, caught in the beam, his eyes bright green behind a sheer black mask.
"You have terrible form," Elara whispered, heart hammering. "The floorboards there creak."
The thief blinked, then smirked, pulling himself up slightly. "And you, my lady, stay up far too late."
He didn't steal the stone that night. Instead, he dropped a single, wild bluebell flower onto the floor and vanished back into the night, leaving Elara staring at the empty space where gravity—and duty—had just been defied.