7:30 a.m. – 99th Precinct, Briefing Room
Ezra Kael stepped into the briefing room with surgical precision, the door clicking shut just as the clock on the wall struck half past seven. Around him, the familiar chaos of the Nine-Nine buzzed in half-awake fragments—Boyle misusing a coffee filter, Rosa silently judging everyone, and Jake mid-rant about the existential crisis caused by off-brand toaster waffles.
"Waffle logic, Santiago! If it's square and crunchy, I must trust it. It's science."
"That's not science, that's why you have indigestion every Thursday," Amy replied, flipping through her case notes without looking up.
Terry clapped his hands once, his voice cutting clean through the noise. "All right, folks. Zip it. We've got a situation."
The room fell into an expectant hush. Ezra took his place by the back wall, arms crossed, watching.
Terry continued, clicking to a slide on the screen. Photos of crime scenes flickered into place—jewelry stores, shattered cases, bypassed alarms.
"Six jobs. All in the last ten days. Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queens. All surgical, no witnesses, and not a single fingerprint. Whoever this is, they're taunting us."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Taunting us, or just really good at their job? Like, annoyingly good. Like 'Amy with a label maker' good."
"That was one time," Amy muttered.
"You printed barcodes for our emotions."
"And it helped you process!"
Ezra ignored the bickering. His eyes stayed locked on the photos. The pattern wasn't just criminal—it was personal. The angles, the timing, the silence between moves. This wasn't just theft. This was a conversation.
Terry tapped the remote. "NYPD thinks it might be the same crew from the Greystone job."
Ezra finally spoke. "Not a crew. A conductor."
Amy turned toward him. "You think it's her."
He didn't nod. Didn't blink. Just said, quietly, "I know it is."
As Terry began passing out files, Ezra opened his own—and something slipped free.
A card. White. Heavyweight. A single word written in black ink:
Soon.
Jake leaned over. "So... stalker, ex, or diabolical ex-stalker with great handwriting?"
Ezra tucked the card into his coat. "Yes."
9:45 a.m. – Roof of the 99th Precinct
New York City stretched out in layered noise below—car horns, construction drills, the occasional angry pigeon. Ezra stood alone at the ledge, wind brushing his coat as he stared down at a skyline he knew far too well. He wasn't searching for her. He was waiting. Because Selina Kyle didn't appear. She announced herself with a whisper, and the damage was always done before the sound faded.
Footsteps behind him. Amy.
"Thought I'd find you up here," she said.
"Because I'm brooding?"
"Because the coffee downstairs tastes like guilt and regret. Also, yes. Brooding."
Ezra's smile was faint but real. "She's not just stealing. She's setting the tempo. First the Greystone job. Now the black rook. She's drawing a line—and I'm the one meant to cross it."
Amy leaned on the opposite side of the ledge. "You gonna follow the line?"
Ezra's gaze didn't shift. "I already have."
11:00 a.m. – 99th Precinct, Evidence Room
The overhead lights hummed above Ezra as he carefully examined the recovered black rook stamp, now sealed in a clear bag. Boyle hovered nearby, trying his best not to breathe too loudly.
"So," Boyle said finally, watching Ezra with cautious reverence, "this Selina person. She was, like... your student?"
Ezra didn't look up. "Partner. Briefly. And she was never really a student. She learned fast. Too fast."
"Dangerous ex-partner with a taste for drama," Boyle muttered. "Y'know, I think I've seen this movie. Stars a Hemsworth."
Jake poked his head in. "Oh good, it's brooding hour. Scoot, Boyle. We've got an actual lead."
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Security footage from a wine bar in SoHo. Two nights ago. It didn't catch the break-in, but the alley cam got a clean shot of someone scaling a fire escape. Gracefully. Like, way too gracefully."
"How graceful are we talking?"
"Swan doing ballet while evading taxes," Jake said. "It screams 'Selina.'"
Ezra grabbed his coat. "Let's move."
11:45 a.m. – SoHo Alley, Wine Bar Rear Entrance
The alley reeked of mildew and old wine, but the camera footage didn't lie. Terry paused the video on his tablet, tilting it so Ezra could see.
She was a blur of shadows and motion—a single flicker of her profile lit by the security light. Even in low resolution, she moved like smoke, poised and untouchable.
Amy studied the footage from over his shoulder. "She's wearing a different mask than the Greystone job. You think she wants you to know it's her?"
"She knows the angle of every camera before she moves. This wasn't a slip. It was a message."
Jake nodded, hands on hips. "So what's she saying?"
Ezra didn't look away. "That I'm already too late."
Boyle squinted at the screen. "Wait... what's that in her hand? Enhance."
Amy sighed. "This isn't CSI."
"Still," Ezra said. "Zoom in."
They did. It was grainy, but visible: a silver pocket watch. Ornate. Etched with a rook.
Ezra frowned. "That belonged to Jean Devrille. Retired intelligence officer. Collector."
Terry swiped through recent reports. "He was robbed three nights ago. Didn't even make the news."
"Because it wasn't a robbery," Ezra murmured. "It was an audition."
Jake blinked. "Okay, now I'm lost."
"She's not just stealing valuables. She's showing me she can steal ghosts."
"Neat," Jake said. "Creepy. But neat."
1:30 p.m. – 99th Precinct, Briefing Room
The blinds were drawn halfway, slicing sunlight into narrow lines across the briefing board. Ezra stood near the whiteboard, watching Amy lay out a timeline filled with red markers and half-circled targets.
Terry closed the door behind them, arms folded. "You think she's building to something."
Ezra nodded. "Three jobs. Three messages. First was personal. Second was familiar. Third was invisible. She's ramping up."
Amy tapped a folder. "If we project her movements, she'll hit again tonight."
Jake spun a pen in his fingers, watching it loop and twirl like a lasso. "So we set a trap."
Ezra looked at the map. "She'll expect that. Which is why we won't lay the trap."
Boyle raised a hand. "So… no trap?"
Ezra's eyes sharpened. "We lay a decoy instead."
Terry raised an eyebrow. "Who's the bait?"
Ezra picked up the rook stamp again, turning it slowly between his fingers like a relic. The plastic crackled in his grip, but his expression was steel.
"I am."
Amy frowned. "She's not reckless. If she's calling you out, she's planning more than a game."
"She always plans more than a game," Ezra replied, voice low. "She's asking if I remember how to play."
Jake leaned against the wall. "And do you?"
Ezra met his gaze. "Guess we're about to find out."
Outside the room, the Nine-Nine hummed with its usual chaos—phones ringing, Gina arguing with a vending machine, Rosa reading silently by the breakroom microwave. But inside, the room had gone still.
Ezra tapped the rook stamp against the edge of the table once, gently.
The board was set.
5:30 p.m. – 99th Precinct, Locker Room
Ezra changed in silence, methodical. Black shirt, dark jacket, thin gloves tucked into the breast pocket. He wasn't going undercover. He was dressing for her.
Jake leaned against the wall of lockers, arms folded. "You sure about this?"
Ezra didn't respond immediately. He adjusted his sleeves with a practiced flick. "She'll be watching. Might as well give her the show she wants."
"Cool, cool," Jake said. "Just remember, this isn't one of those noir films where the guy gets played by the femme fatale and ends up in a river."
Ezra smirked. "Don't worry. I wrote that script. I already know how it ends."
Jake tilted his head. "Let me guess. You win."
"No."
Ezra grabbed his badge.
"I survive."
6:00 p.m. – Brooklyn Museum, South Wing
The event was black tie, a charity gala for historic artifact preservation. Ezra walked through the grand lobby, eyes already scanning exits, reflective surfaces, and the waiters carrying glasses of champagne.
He wasn't here for the donors.
Amy and Terry stood near the main exhibit: a secured glass case featuring a rare diamond chess set on loan from a private collector. The queen was solid white sapphire. Ezra stared at it for a beat too long.
Terry leaned over. "You think she'll try to take that tonight?"
"No," Ezra said. "She already has."
Amy blinked. "What?"
"Look closely," he murmured.
They did. Terry let out a low breath. "That's a replica."
Ezra nodded. "She swapped it before the gala. This is her curtain call."
Jake approached, balancing a tray of tiny hors d'oeuvres. "You guys look super intense. Want a crab puff? They taste like betrayal."
"Stick close to the northeast stairwell," Ezra said. "She'll be on the roof."
Boyle, suited up like a confused penguin, appeared next to them. "Why the roof?"
"Because that's where I taught her to vanish."
6:35 p.m. – Brooklyn Museum, Rooftop Garden
The skyline burned gold in the setting sun, and the rooftop was deserted, save for one shadow leaning against the rail.
Selina.
She turned before he spoke. The wind caught her coat, sleek and tailored. A mask half-hid her face, but the curve of her lips told him everything. It was a smile dipped in history—and something softer beneath it.
"You're early," she said.
"You're predictable," Ezra replied.
She walked slowly toward him, heels silent on the stone. "And yet here you are."
"Why the rook?"
"Because pawns bore me."
He stopped inches from her. "You could've disappeared."
"I did," she said. "But then you showed up again, Ezra. All dressed up in rules and badges. I had to see if you'd changed."
He studied her. "And?"
"You haven't."
Ezra smiled thinly. "Neither have you."
She stepped closer, just a breath away. Her voice dropped. "I missed this. The game. The tension. The way you always knew where I'd be."
Ezra met her gaze. "And yet you still run."
"Only so you'll chase."
She held out her hand and placed something in his palm. The real white queen.
"Checkmate," she whispered, eyes lingering a moment too long.
Then she stepped back, climbed the ledge, and vanished into the twilight.
No trace. No chase.
Just smoke, memory, and the ache of a connection severed by choice.
7:15 p.m. – 99th Precinct, Bullpen
"She got away, didn't she?" Jake asked.
Ezra placed the sapphire queen on his desk.
"She left a message."
"Yeah? What was it?"
Ezra looked out the window, the night swallowing the city.
"That she's still out there. And she still remembers."
Boyle leaned over the desk. "So what now?"
Ezra smiled.
"Now? We wait for her next move."