Y/n had been having a good day.

The shipment had come in clean, the new runners had actually shown up on time, and the money was already being washed through three legitimate fronts by close of business.

All that was left was a sausage roll from Greggs and maybe a quiet pint somewhere the lads didn't know about.

Ten minutes later, Y/n stepped out of the warm, fluorescent glow of Greggs, paper bag in hand and a flaky pastry already half-demolished, when the wet cardboard caught them.

A stack of collapsed boxes, left too close to the door by some overworked employee, had turned into a slick, sodden trap.

One foot slid. One arm pinwheeled. The sausage roll flew.

And then, from somewhere to the left, a sharp, rasping laugh cut through the downpour.