“What does he want with me?” I mutter, bitterly, as I read the newspaper.

𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧, 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫. “𝐈𝐭’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐖𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞,” 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰.

Of course I know what he wants. But it’s almost as if he knows who I am.

No. If he knew, I’d be doomed.

But what are the chances? I’m a good thief but there are plenty of criminal’s much bigger than me. I was not ‘infamous’ like the newspaper stated.

I’m not even an assassin. I don’t kill.

If Johnathon wasn’t my brother, I’d be surprised that the Country’s Best Detective even thought about me.

Since he is my brother, it feels like a cruel coincidence.

I guess I should explain. Our adopted parents taught both of us to be criminals when we were children.

I went along. My original plan was to get revenge on the assassin who took my biological parents from me. But then, by the time I grew up, he already died and I became the best thief my adopted parents could hope for.

But Johnathon was horrified all the while. He didn’t believe in vengeance or rage. Just heart and compassion. When we were teenagers, he claimed to go along with being a thief.

But I knew he was up to something.

I finally figured it out when he became the most famous detective in the whole country. He used the secrets we were taught and uses that to figure out criminals. He took out almost 60.

But mostly big showy ones. Why me? I don’t do any thing too big. I never needed that much attention on me.

Well, looks like I got it anyway.

—————————

I look up when I hear a knock on the door. My fake identity is Margaret Johnson, a Noblewoman, and she’s rich because I steal from a lot of banks.

“Come in,” I call, assuming it’s a servant.

The door opens and for a half-second, I freeze.

Johnathon.

He’s holding a bunch of papers, so he doesn’t see me right away. I look at the windows frantically, wondering if jumping was an eligible option.

“Margaret Johnson, I have a warrant for your interrogation,”

Then he looks up.

“Lettie?” He almost chokes as he sees me and takes me. He rubs his eyes as if he thinks he’s hallucinating.

I always hated that nickname.

“Johnathon,” My voice is brittle.

I quickly run past him.

“Scarlet! Wait!”

But I don’t stop running.

—————————

Johnathon didn’t know that I was Scar. But he must have suspected Margaret Johnson of being Scar.

I have to be more careful.

Word would be out in the streets that ‘Scar’ is Scarlet Klasson. Johnathon’s never been good at keeping secrets.

Why did the most famous detective in the country have to be obsessed with finding me? The one person I’d have trouble dealing with?

But I can’t let a conscience keep me from losing everything I worked so hard for.

I haven’t seen Johnathon in five years, when we went our separate ways.

I take a deep breath. I knew what I had to do. Johnathon was no brother of mine.

At least, not anymore.