Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice 〈AUTHENTIC - 2027〉

Aubree’s eyes went wide with perfect, Oscar-worthy innocence. “A scarf? I… I don’t have a scarf. I didn’t take anything.”

He moved to her jean pockets. Empty. He knelt down and checked her boots. Nothing. He stood up, frustrated. His eyes landed on her bralette. The fabric was thin, but there was a slight, unnatural bulge near the left cup.

“I honestly have no idea,” she said, crossing her legs. She looked at the posters on the wall: Shoplifting is a Crime. Up to $10,000 Fine.

Morgan’s eyebrow twitched. He had expected crying. He had expected denial. But the invitation was new. Shoplyfter - Aubree Ice

“Aubree. Aubree Ice.”

She turned. He began a standard pat-down—shoulders, ribs, waistband. When his hands reached the small of her back, she let out a soft gasp.

“Why?” Aubree’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. I didn’t take anything

“Sandra,” Morgan said, his voice suddenly formal. “Wait outside.”

“I said wait outside.”

She stood up and slung her tote over her shoulder. Nothing

Aubree pulled her sweater back on, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she reached into her jeans—the front pocket this time, the one he hadn’t checked because it was too shallow to hold a scarf—and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.

She drifted to the fragrance section, then to the accessories—a deliberate route known as the “five-finger discount waltz.” She paused at a locked glass case containing silk scarves. The price tag on one, a hand-painted floral orchid design, read $1,200.

He sat back down, defeated. “You can get dressed. I’m sorry for the… misunderstanding.”

“I was tying my shoe,” she said, pointing to her boot. “Look. It’s double-knotted. I’m clumsy.”

“You see, Detective, I never stole anything. I wanted you to profile me. I wanted you to bring me back here. I wanted to see how far a man like you would go to ‘find’ a crime that never happened. And you just stripped me in a back room based on a floorwalker’s hunch.”