Janice Griffith — Ivy Wolfe

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

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 janice griffith

Tonight’s target was a gala at the Meridian Museum. The prize: a cursed jade pendant said to bring misfortune to anyone who possessed it for more than a week. Their client, a mysteriously calm woman in a turtleneck, had paid half upfront. Ivy, sleek in emerald velvet with a razor-sharp bob, smirked

“You’re alive,” Ivy breathed.

Together, they walked out of the museum’s service exit into the rain, the cursed jade swinging between them—harmless for one more night, because some things are stronger than magic. The real obstacle was the other attendees: billionaires

“Client forgot to mention the curse comes with friends,” Ivy muttered.

“Janice, no—”