The body isn't yours, and you're having trouble making it do the things it should do, the things your body does. It's softer, and the weak muscles tremble with disuse as you try to scale a wall, and you realize this test run, the one before the real test run, was a good idea. Because, despite what everyone thinks, you don't want to kill her. Oh, you don't mind dying yourself, but she hasn't done anything. She makes you think of an impractical porcelain doll; pretty, but too fragile for anything but sitting on a shelf and being admired from afar. But you're fond, and you don't want to kill her, so when you slip on the edge of a balcony you catch yourself with more panic than you would back home. This test run was definitely a good idea.
She's quiet in your mind, like she always is, but you're worried lately. The notes she's been leaving you are worrisome, and you wonder if anyone knows but you. You could sound an alarm, but that tastes a little like betrayal, so you do the only thing you can instead.
Getting in should be easy. The alarm is good, but not great. The motion sensors are nothing special. These people are lazy and safe, and you always like taking from people who don't appreciate what they have enough to think they might lose it. You chose the mark carefully, chose a piece that can't be traced easily, and it's only the soft body and curves beneath the sleek black that are throwing you off. You wonder, as you carve a circle in an upstairs window, if you could pass for her at other times, if you could fix things. You're sure you could do a better job, and there are choices you would make that are very different, starting with ditching her boyfriend and finding someone who can actually keep her in one piece instead.
It's a consideration for later, if you survive the altercation that led you to come over to Las Vegas to begin with. You're not very sure about that, about surviving, but you're pretty sure she'd want to do it anyway, and so you don't feel badly about it. And let's face it, better her than anyone she cares about. One more of those little situations, and she's going to lose her mind anyway.
You're in and out, your take safely tucked in a bag at your hip, and there isn't even an alarm ringing in the distance. Here's to hoping abusive husbands are as easy to take care of.