"Call Me Midnight" Mug

The alley was silent except for the faint shhh—shhh of a nail file. The rats froze mid-heist, their paws still clutching the golden fish statue. From the shadows stepped Midnight, his green eyes calm but unyielding.
He didn’t hiss, he didn’t leap—he never needed to. Midnight thrived on patience, letting silence speak louder than claws. The slow, deliberate filing of his nails carried more weight than a growl ever could.
The rat leader stammered, “W-we weren’t stealing, honest!”
Midnight tilted his head, cool and unreadable. He wasn’t cruel; he didn’t need to punish. His quiet confidence was enough. One by one, the rats dropped their loot and fled into the night.
With a faint, almost smug flick of his tail, Midnight slipped back into the darkness. Calm. Collected. Untouchable.
That was his way—he didn’t chase crime. He made crime chase itself away.