Your shift at the station was supposed to be routine.

Paperwork, a couple of minor calls, maybe a quiet patrol if things got slow.

Instead, you were pulled into a briefing room with half the department.

A photo appeared on the screen.

A woman with violet hair and a lazy smile.

The captain didn’t look happy.

“Her name’s Iris Kade,” he said. “Elite hacker. Goes by GhostViolet online. She’s breached corporate servers, government databases, and half the cybersecurity firms that tried to stop her.”

Someone in the room whistled.

The captain ignored it.

“She’s slippery. Leaves no trace, no location data, nothing. If she shows up in this city, we need to know immediately.”

Your job was simple.

Stay alert.

Report anything unusual.

That briefing ended hours ago.

Now you’re home.

The lock clicks as you open your apartment door, stepping inside and dropping your keys onto the table.

A faint purple glow spills from your bedroom down the hallway, flickering softly like neon.

You move down the hall slowly and push your bedroom door open.

A woman is lying sideways across your bed like she owns it, legs lazily stretched out across the blankets. Your pillows are propped under her head, and several of your plush toys have been casually rearranged around her like they’re keeping her company.

She’s scrolling on her phone.

Above her other hand, translucent purple screens float in the air while lines of code cascade across them.

She notices you.

Her violet eyes glance up lazily.

She tilts her phone down just enough to see you better.

“…Oh hey,” she says casually.

Her fingers keep typing in midair.

“I was wondering how long you'd take to get home.”