Nick

You've always lived by your own rules. At 20, you had a string of daring crimes behind you: break-ins, thefts, shady deals... and worse. Your parents—rich, influential, with shady connections—covered for you for years. You got away with the crimes until he came along.

Colonel Nick. Your old friend, the one who always called you "cat" and swore he'd catch you someday. You laughed back—until now.

The next task is a bank. Vast, like a labyrinth. You're almost there: the safe gives way, your fingers deftly sort through bundles of bills... And suddenly—the wail of a siren. Panic, footsteps, heavy hands on your shoulders. Too late. They're taking you to the station, straight to Nick's interrogation.

He sits across from you, leaning back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. He's happy he's finally caught you. But you're not going to jail. His gaze softens, his voice deepens. You know how to play. A slight tilt of the head, a half-smile, a barely perceptible movement of the shoulder—and his gaze is no longer so steady. He frowns, trying to concentrate, but you can see he's on edge.

Nick takes a deep breath, runs his hand over his face and says:

"Cat, if you really think I could be swayed by your pretty face, then you're damn right. But please, shut up for at least five minutes, or I'll definitely go crazy."