Chapter 1

The sign on the steleIt's a cold night. The city was asleep, but I couldn't afford to relax—the game was starting today. The Aurora Jewelry store was twinkling with lights, as if teasing me. Diamonds, sapphires and emeralds sparkled in the windows — they beckoned, but I knew that the main thing was not the extraction, but the process.I was standing on the roof of a nearby building, watching through the scope of a minicamera. The wind stirred my hair under the hood, but I didn't feel the cold—the adrenaline warmed me better than any jacket. The clock on the tower struck two. The quietest time. The most vulnerable.The guards were making their rounds, as predictable as clockwork. Three minutes — and they are immobilized: one from the paralyzing gas, the second from a precise blow. Gaz is the development of a familiar chemist. It works in 3 seconds, the effect lasts 20 minutes. The punch is a practiced martial art technique that my father taught me. He always said: "Precision is more important than strength."The alarm was turned off during the day, when I pretended to be a customer. I memorized the location of the cameras, studied the schedule of security shifts, and found out the safe's code — 73-19-05. The owner's date of birth, naively hidden in social networks.The glass doors of the elevator opened silently. I went down to the first floor, walked past the display cases with emeralds and rubies, without looking at them. The value is in grams of gold and carats of stones, not in luster.The safe is in the back. The lock clicked and the door opened. Inside there are jewelry boxes, cash, and documents. I worked quickly, accurately, and without fuss. Gloves won't let fingerprints through, soft-soled boots won't leave footprints, and the hood hides your hair. Every detail is calculated.Some of the jewelry went into the bag for sale. I carefully put some of them in a separate case for the collection. I have a tradition: every trophy is a reminder of skill.Before leaving, I stopped at the central showcase. She swung her arm and the glass cracked, showering with sparkling rain. Not for the sake of profit, but for the sake of demonstration. I can take everything. And I can destroy what I don't need.On the fragments of the surviving glass, I wrote in bright red lipstick: "What could be more expensive than gold, but has no price?"From the roof, I saw police cars approaching. The blue light of the flashing lights colored the night. They scurry around like ants at a disturbed anthill. He's one of them.Maxim Orlov. He was tall, in a dark coat, with a tense face. He examines the crime scene, asks questions, examines the evidence. The movements are fast, but not abrupt — confident, measured."This is not nonsense," he says to his assistant. "It's a message. And it's addressed to us.I smiled in the dark. Yes, Detective. It is for you.Victor's voice came over the headphones

Chapter 2

The sworn enemy

Maxim never resembled an ordinary policeman — there was a special depth in him, noticeable even through the veil of fatigue frozen in his eyes. There was a steady fire in his gaze, burning and burning, fueled by a passion for solving the most intricate puzzles. It was as if he was challenging those who fancied themselves above the law, and each time he entered into this battle with the passion of a hunter. His manner of work resembled the tactics of a predator: measured steps, patience, willingness to wait for the right moment to deliver an accurate blow. It wasn't the first time our paths had crossed, and that gave our unspoken game a special edge. A few years ago, I, still inexperienced and naive, made the mistake of leaving a trail that he managed to discover. Then his experience and amazing intuition turned out to be one step ahead — he outplayed me, but this loss was an invaluable lesson. I learned it in full: now every action was thought out to the smallest detail, every step was verified with surgical precision. Today, I was no longer the same—more prudent, more careful, more sophisticated. It gave me a strange pleasure to watch him from afar. I studied his methods, analyzed the tactics of his team, and even noticed such small things as the subtle irritation that appeared on his face when he discovered my "signature"—the very mark that I deliberately left, like an artist's signature under a painting. For me, it was not just a chase, but a real intellectual game where every detail mattered and every move required careful planning. I sincerely respected his intelligence, tenacity, and determination. Perhaps it was reckless, but deep down I cherished the hope that one day he would see in me not an ordinary thief, but a creator who creates his masterpieces in a criminal but masterly way. Ambitious plans for the next night were already forming in my head. The robbery of the Aurora emeralds was only the first chapter in a series of daring schemes — a kind of warm-up for real challenges. The city contained a lot of treasures that beckoned with their inaccessibility, and I was filled with a thirst for new challenges, a desire to surpass myself. I had no doubt that Maxim Orlov would be looking for me with the same indomitable determination with which I was preparing for a new operation. And this endless catand-mouse game, this intense duel of minds, had just begun. I knew that he would not back down, which meant that my life would be filled with the most exciting tension that I valued so much. A slight smile touched my lips as I looked at the twinkling lights of the night city. The air was permeated with the winter chill, but heat was burning inside me—not from physical warmth, but from anticipation. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses, and the thought of the upcoming challenge excited his imagination. The next move was his, and I was ready for it. I had time to prepare, to hone the plan to perfection. The game continued, and the stakes in it were getting higher.

Chapter 3

Anna's MaskThe police office greeted me with the smell of coffee and paper. I came in with a folder in my hands, smiled at everyone and introduced myself:— Anna Krylova, guest analyst. I'll be helping with the investigation of a series of robberies.Orlov looked up from his papers and nodded. I am glad to cooperate.We exchanged glances. There is a cold calculation in his eyes, a slight mockery in mine. He didn't realize that I already knew more about him than he did about me: his work schedule, favorite routes, habits. For example, I knew that he always checks his e-mail at exactly 10:15 and 4:45 p.m., and prefers a turkey sandwich and salad at lunch.Maxim's colleague Elena narrowed her eyes, studying me. Her gaze slid over my suit, lingered on my hands, looking for signs of nervousness or inconsistency in the image.— How do you know so much about the methods of such crimes? "What is it?" she asked with deliberate nonchalance.—Experience,— I smiled. — I've worked with similar cases in another city. She specialized in the analysis of robbery patterns and behavioral patterns of criminals.She didn't say anything, but her gaze remained suspicious. I noticed how she nodded imperceptibly to someone in the back of the room, apparently signaling her doubts.I've been watching the department work all day. Orlov moved confidently, asked precise questions, and noted details that others had missed. For example, he noticed a barely noticeable scratch on the lock of the safe, a small thing that the others ignored. He took a picture of her, made notes in a notebook, then compared it with photographs from other crime scenes.I've been analyzing his work methods.: the speed of information processing, the ways of structuring data, and the logic of building versions. It was useful for my task to understand how dangerous he is as an opponent. His professionalism was impressive, but not admirable: I evaluated him solely as an element of the system that needs to be taken into account in the game.At lunch, Elena started talking again. We were sitting in a small staff canteen, drinking cold coffee from plastic cups."You know too much about the psychology of criminals," she said, stirring with a spoon. — As if she herself had once—...worked with specialized psychologists," I finished for her. — It was necessary in the last project. We have been developing algorithms for predicting the actions of organized groups.She nodded, but I could tell she didn't believe me. I could see it in her eyes.: "You're hiding something."

Chapter 4

An unexpected trip to a restaurant

That same evening, Orlov proposed:

"You're working too hard." Let's get some rest? We'll deal with this case over dinner, discuss the versions.

I hesitated for a split second, but agreed. It was a chance to get access to unpublished investigation data.

In the restaurant, Maxim laid out printouts, crime scene photos, and notes on the table. He was explaining his theory:

"Look, all the crimes were committed within a three—kilometer radius of the main thoroughfares. But at the same time, places with a minimum density of surveillance cameras have been selected. The criminal knows the city like the back of his hand.

I listened attentively, took notes, and asked clarifying questions. He showed diagrams, marked points on the map. I recorded every detail — it could be useful for planning the next step.

When we said goodbye at the entrance, he took my hand:

— Thank you, Anna. You're... easier to work with. You see things that others miss.

I nodded, keeping a professional expression on my face.:

— I'm always happy to help. Efficiency is my priority.

Chapter 5

An insidious plan

Returning home, I took out my notebook and began to systematize the information I received:

weaknesses in the security system of banks;

police patrol schedule in key areas;

Orlov's methods for analyzing evidence;

possible loopholes in surveillance cameras.

Victor— my accomplice, who knew the truth, was waiting there somewhere. The next game was waiting somewhere out there. I opened my laptop and started making a plan for the next robbery, taking into account the new data. The game continued, and now I had more information to win.

Moonlight fell on the windowsill, but I didn't pay attention to it. The laptop screen glowed, displaying a map of the city with marked points. I've been making the latest edits to the chart. I set the rules. And in this game, emotions were an extra factor—I eliminated them from the equation many years ago.

The darkness of the room was broken only by the cold, almost ghostly glow of the laptop screen. Its light picked out the outlines of a table, a stack of folders with documents, and the edge of a city map spread out next to it. My fingers slid over the keyboard with mechanical precision as I put the finishing touches to the plan, honing the details that would transform chaos into a flawless system.

There was more than just a map of a megalopolis with streets and blocks in front of my eyes. I saw a complex web of possibilities: infrastructure vulnerabilities, surveillance camera blind spots, patrol schedules, and the rhythms of urban life. Each planned point of a future robbery is verified to the millimeter — not only from the point of view of logistics and security, but also taking into account Maxim Orlov's behavioral patterns. His methods of work, his foresight, the logic of analyzing evidence — all this has long been part of my strategic calculation.

I knew perfectly well that Orlov would be looking for patterns. He will analyze previous crimes, compare the evidence, and try to build a criminal profile. But my game is always one step ahead. I deliberately left small clues—barely noticeable, but convincing enough to distract his attention. These "scratches" on the locks of safes, strange marks on the walls, intentionally left shoe marks — all this should have led the investigation on the wrong track. Let him look for connections in old cases, study other people's mistakes. My "mistakes" were thought out to the smallest detail —perfect fakes designed to confuse even the most astute detective.

Victor, my accomplice, kept in constant touch. His messages came rarely, but contained only the most important information: "transport is ready," "equipment checked," "route approved." He was the invisible force that set my plan in motion. We worked as a single mechanism — without unnecessary words, without emotional outbursts, with absolute trust built up over the years of working together. Our bond was not based on friendship, but on a common goal and the same attitude to the rules of society.: We both considered them to be nothing more than annoying restrictions that could and should be circumvented. To the outside world, I am Anna Krylova, a guest analyst. For Victor— Alisa Vorontsova, the architect of impeccable operations. And this duality was the key to success.

At dawn, I closed my laptop. I didn't feel tired, just a slight tension in my muscles and a barely noticeable dryness in my eyes. It wasn't just a job, it wasn't routine crime planning. It was a strategy game, a chess game with live pieces, where every move was calculated ten steps ahead. The king is Eagles, pawns are policemen, rooks are security systems. And I am an invisible grandmaster, managing the game from the shadows.

I was already anticipating the next stage: a new series of robberies that would plunge the investigation even deeper into a dead end. Each crime will be a logical continuation of the previous one, but only at first glance. In fact, they will become part of a complex mosaic that cannot be assembled without knowing the big picture. And only I knew this painting.

The sun barely appeared above the horizon, painting the sky in delicate peach and pink tones. The city was waking up: cars were starting up somewhere, shops were opening, ordinary people were starting their day. But for me, the world remained contrasting—black and white, like a chessboard.

Chapter 6