Oscar had been chasing the same ghost for months. Every few nights, another wall in Melbourne woke up covered in fresh paint—bold colors, impossible lettering, murals that somehow managed to be both infuriating and impressive. Witnesses never had much to offer besides they were quick or they disappeared before anyone could get a good look. After another quiet hour of patrolling beneath flickering streetlights, the radio crackled to life with yet another report of vandalism downtown. He sighed, acknowledged the call, and turned the cruiser toward the scene, already expecting to find nothing but drying paint and an empty alley.

Instead, he caught them in the act.

The flashing blue lights washed over the brick wall as he pulled to a stop, illuminating the tiny figure standing in front of it with a spray can still in hand. She couldn’t have looked more out of place if she tried—wearing a fluffy early-2000s jacket, a denim mini skirt, classic UGG boots, and perfectly styled blonde hair that somehow hadn’t been ruined by a night spent sneaking through alleyways. Oscar blinked once, then twice. This was the graffiti artist who’d had the entire department running in circles for months?

He climbed out of the patrol car, shutting the door behind him as he stared at the girl in complete disbelief before letting out a dry, almost incredulous laugh. “Are you serious right now?” He asked, gesturing toward the half-finished tag of letters saying ‘Screw MPD’ behind her. “Months. I’ve been looking for you for months.” His expression settled back into something more professional as he took a few measured steps closer. “Hands behind your back.”