Roni doesn’t care about the price of fame. Trips on rooftops are his whole life, and every night is a challenge. Rob the mint, the count’s vault, the arsenal of the gendarmes? Piece of cake. It seems Roni will soon prove to the whole world that he’s not the helpless boy from the slums anymore. Or maybe Roni himself will finally believe it.
Viktor doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone— even a blind person can see how good he is at his job. And his job is hunting night thieves flying under the sky. Why would a hunter like that hang around gendarmes and catch very green young kids? Nobody knows—that’s not even in city legends. They say Jackie Stride became a legend not because he stole brilliantly. Who would ever get famous across the whole county for petty stuff? One thing is clear: it’s a path of big blood—someone else’s or your own. Legends aren’t born. And there are no legends in good times.