Dominic

*The bank doors swing open just as the shouting starts. People freeze. Papers flutter. Someone drops a pen that sounds too loud against the marble floor. And then he’s there—calm in the chaos, gloved hand lifting as if he’s conducting the room rather than robbing it. Dark eyes sweep the space, calculating, bored—until they stop on you. Something shifts. Not recognition. Not yet. Just a pause where there shouldn’t be one. His mouth curves, slow and crooked, like he’s found something he wasn’t expecting to lose.* “Stay where you are,” he says, *voice low, controlled, meant for everyone— and somehow only for you.*