Stealing the Wrong Treasure

However, his defiance was like a mosquito trying to stop a giant. It did not take long before he was thrown to the ground, blood trickling from his mouth, yet he yelled out to me.

"Keep living! You have to keep living. I'll find you."

Curled up in pain, his blind eyes fixed in my direction, his forehead veins standing out starkly.

I could not grasp why he was so worked up.

All I could tell him was, "Look after yourself. When I make it, I'll come back for you."

As they led me away, I heard him call out, "What's your name?"

However, all he got in return was the whisper of dust settling back to the ground.

In that place, we were numbers, not names.

I ended up sold to a criminal ring, thrown into a vicious world where only the strongest survived.

They trained us in disguise, combat, firearms, and high-tech gadgetry.

Fail a mission, and I would not go hungry; I would just be waiting for death.

After surviving the cutthroat life of the syndicate, Old Fox started sending me on jobs.

I realized that the so-called orphanage was just a front for a human trafficking ring.

I rubbed the bead in my hand. The little blind kid must have known; that must be why he told me to live on after his failed attempt to save me.

Who was he, really? Where would he be?

Two days before a big job, I visited the Sunshine Welfare Home once more.

The sign out front was brand new, and the yard then boasted a swing set and a slide.

The first time I ventured out on a mission for the thieves' guild, I stumbled upon that place. It had already been taken over by the Gilbert Group and transformed into a genuine orphanage.

As expected, there was no news of the little blind kid.

A frail meow caught my attention. A tiny cat, huddled in the corner with a limp back leg, was painstakingly inching forward on its front paws.

Out of nowhere, rain began to fall, heavy drops pounding the pavement. The kitten squinted against the rain, determined to keep moving.

I slipped off my windbreaker and held it above the cat, shielding it from the relentless downpour. Soaked to the bone, I still held firm, providing a shelter for the little one.

"Survival of the fittest," a voice behind me said, deep and laced with sarcasm. "Even if you save it, it won't make it through the winter."

I did not look back, just kept standing in the rain, my coat a makeshift canopy, watching the kitten's struggle. "If it wants to live, it deserves a chance to grow."

Silence followed from behind, and I almost thought he had left. "Only the weak wait for chances to be given to them," the man said, his voice steady and tinged with indifference.

After getting the cat to safety under an awning, I stood up, rain streaming down from my hair. "Should you ever find yourself in trouble, don't count on anyone to help you."

No reply came. When I turned, all I saw was the back of a man getting into his car in the rain and a black umbrella dripping water on the corridor floor.

On the auction night, I slipped into the venue's air ducts three hours ahead of time.

Lying there, I peered down through the vent. Below me was a scene of opulence: crystal chandeliers and silk carpets.

My eyes roamed over the attendees, finally resting on a man in the front row.

Bradley. Clad in a black suit, he sat ramrod straight, his features sharp and unyielding, softening only when he spoke to the woman beside him.

That had to be the Rosemary the files had warned me about, Bradley's one vulnerability he could not afford to expose.

Below me, I caught snippets of hushed conversations.

"That's Rosemary, right? Rumor has it Mr. Gilbert spent over a decade looking for her. Found her three years ago, and now he's as protective of her as one would be of a precious jewel."

"Want to hear something juicier?"

The women eagerly nodded.

"Word on the street is, someone once snatched Rosemary to get at Bradley. By the next day, the ringleader was flayed and dumped on his kingpin's doorstep."

"Yeah, I heard that, too. Bradley went all out, unleashed hell to crush his enemies, and sent a clear message to the criminal world. The Gilbert Group took a beating, too. Since then, no one's dared to mess with Rosemary."

I glanced at Bradley's retreating figure as a strange sense of having been there before washed over me.