About “Steal” in a few words:

Steal is a British crime-thriller series on Prime Video that turns a normal office day upside down when a group of armed thieves crash into Lochmill Capital and force two co-workers to help empty billions from pension funds. What starts as a messy, terrifying ordeal becomes a tangled investigation led by DCI Rhys, peeling back layers of deception and hidden agendas. It’s sharp, tense, and full of moments that make you rethink who’s really in control.

Meet the characters from Steal

Zara Dunne

Oh Zara — the wild-brained planner with a sober face and a mischievous grin. She’s the one who dreams up the impossible routes and then argues with the map until it gives in, equal parts strategist and adrenaline junkie. She can be absurdly maternal one minute (cookies! band‑aids!) and coldly efficient the next, which is, like, somehow the point. Also she collects hotel keycards but never stays anywhere long enough to use them properly — small compulsions. Her laugh is loud and maybe inappropriate, and she will absolutely talk you into the job and then bail you out when you panic.

DCI Rhys Covac

Rhys is the long-suffering, razor-sharp DCI who looks bored but remembers everything — like, EVERYTHING. He speaks softly but every word lands; he’s a bureaucratic fortress and also secretly the one who greases the wheels when the team needs a favor (bribes? paperwork? both). You get the sense he drinks bad tea and listens to Dvořák on a loop, which is oddly calming for him and suspicious for everyone else. He can be maddeningly moral and yet willing to bend rules when the cost is human, which makes him a very messy moral compass. Also he hides a ridiculous collection of novelty crime-scene keyrings in his desk — no one knows why, least of all him.

Luke

Luke is the easygoing muscle/driver type — the guy who can fix a car with gum and a prayer and then disappear to play chess at 2 a.m. He has a goofy grin and a temper that only ever bursts out at badly timed locks or people who move too fast around his friends. Annoyingly dependable, he’s the calm chewing gum in the chaos, though he swears he hates rules even as he follows them, quietly. Also he hums loudly when nervous and insists he can’t sing, but will absolutely karaoke in the worst possible moment.

Sniper

The Sniper is all precision and quiet; you only notice them when they stop being quiet — which is very rarely. Patience incarnate, they can wait hours for a single, perfect shot and will catalogue the wind like it’s a person. There’s this absurd tenderness — they will melt over photos of dogs and name their cactus “Patience” and then refuse to talk about feelings on principle. Extremely competent and a little uncanny, they also solve Monday-level crosswords like it’s a hobby, which somehow makes them more human and less terrifying.