Griffith - Ivy Wolfe Janice

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.

Ivy extended her hand. Janice took it.

“I don’t like this one,” Janice whispered, adjusting her earring—which was actually a micro-recorder. Her gown was silver, her hair a cascade of dark waves. She looked like a forgotten silent film star. ivy wolfe janice griffith

“We return it to the woman in the turtleneck,” Janice said, standing. “And then we ask for double. Hazard pay.”

They reached the pendant’s alcove. It pulsed faintly under glass, green and wrong. They ran

“Told you. Cursed,” Janice said.

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 extended her hand

“Janice, no—”