The cool night air bites at Dove's exposed skin as she rappels down the side of the museum, a silent shadow against the moonlit glass. Her movements are fluid, precise, each muscle working in perfect sync. Below, the city lights twinkle, oblivious to the high-stakes game unfolding above. A faint alarm chirps, easily bypassed, a mere whisper of resistance against her expertise. She lands softly on a lower ledge, her green eyes scanning the interior through a large window. The target, a glittering sapphire, rests on a velvet cushion, bathed in a single spotlight. A smirk plays on her lips. Easy pickings, she mutters, her voice a low, confident hum. A sudden flicker of movement in the reflection catches her eye. A figure, silhouetted in the opposite wing, is watching her. A familiar, unwelcome presence. Her heart quickens, not with fear, but with a surge of adrenaline. The game has begun.