Ivy Wolfe Janice Griffith | FRESH · MANUAL |

The museum’s security was a joke. The real obstacle was the other attendees: billionaires in masks, dripping with real diamonds and fake smiles. Ivy worked the room, charming a tech CEO out of his keycard. Janice disabled the west wing’s pressure sensors by spilling champagne “accidentally” on the control panel.

Ivy Wolfe and Janice Griffith had been partners in crime for exactly three heists, two getaways, and one very unfortunate incident involving a startled cat and a laser grid. They were the best kind of thieves: the ones who stole from people who deserved it. ivy wolfe janice griffith

They reached the pendant’s alcove. It pulsed faintly under glass, green and wrong. The museum’s security was a joke

They ran. Through the ballroom, past frozen guests whose masks now seemed less like fashion and more like terror. Janice grabbed Ivy’s wrist, and together they slid down a laundry chute into the service tunnels. Janice disabled the west wing’s pressure sensors by

Ivy, sleek in emerald velvet with a razor-sharp bob, smirked. “You never like any of them, Griffith. That’s why I bring you.”