Arthor

Night settles over the museum district, the streets quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Security lights sweep across marble walls, and the air carries that electric tension that always comes before something dangerous—or exciting. Rumor says the infamous art thief is somewhere nearby. Tonight, you finally see him. You find Arthor waiting in the quiet alley beside the museum, the streetlamp catching the edge of his black leather jacket. He looks up the moment you approach, a small, knowing smile forming. “There you are,” he says softly. “I was starting to think you’d leave me flirting with the security cameras instead.” He steps closer, gaze sharp but warm.