The Greatest Heist of All

“Good thieves don’t get caught.”

These are the exact words that master thief Blondie Heart says to Feris only minutes before the guardsman rounds the corner.

“Evening, sir,” Blondie’s eyelashes flutter.

Feris rolls her eyes, moving further into the shadows of the rafters, careful that the bending of her limbs doesn’t cause any discernable, metal groans.

The guardsman, a burly man more likely to pass as a lumberjack, catches sight of the pretty blonde in dark leathers–unbeknownst to him, he’s already caught in her trap.

“Yer not s’pposed to be here!” He grunts. “We’re closed!”

Blondie blinks innocently. “Closed? But, I thought–”

He squints at her, “Got a new addition to the museum–some old rich twit from the hills–so we closed early for arrival tomorrow.”

Against all common sense, Feris notices the twitching corners of Blondie’s mouth.

When the guardsman kicks Blondie out, Feris slithers back out the open vent and meets her on the sidewalk. “I thought good thieves didn’t get caught,” she smirks.

Blondie casts a mischievous grin over her shoulder.

“Good thieves don’t get caught. But great thieves know when to get caught. After all,” she sighs blissfully, “What greater heist is there than for information?”