She didn't just take it. She unwrapped it there , letting the crinkle sing a sharp, crisp note into the quiet room. Kevin looked up. Alysha met his gaze, held the chocolate up like a stolen jewel, and bit into it slowly. A smear of red syrup painted her grin.
Kevin stared. Alysha licked her fingers, one by one, then padded back to the living room, leaving a single, perfect crumb on the carpet as her signature.
Step three: The Acquisition. The drawer handle was cold brass. She pulled. It squeaked. Kevin didn't flinch. There it was: the red foil-wrapped orb of a dark chocolate cherry. The holy grail of after-dinner contraband.
Step one: Distraction. Alysha “accidentally” knocked over a tower of plastic cups. They clattered like cheap wind chimes. Kevin glanced up, sighed, and resumed scrolling. Perfect. His threshold for chaos was pathetically low.
"Did you just—" Kevin started.
Naughty Alysha knew the exact weight of a cookie on her palm. She knew the precise decibel of a floorboard’s groan. And she knew, with the cold certainty of a seven-year-old mastermind, that the “emergency only” chocolate stash in Mom’s top drawer was not, in fact, for emergencies.