Phoebe had already been sedated, and if she received more medication, she might not wake up again.
She was a master thief, only taking things and never harming anyone, a lesson her father had taught her from day one.
Taking out a butterfly knife and a collector from her bag, she tiptoed barefoot to the side of the bed.
She glanced at the man's sleeping face, carefully lifted his eyelid, and used the collector to sample his iris.
With the sample in hand, she immediately went over, grabbed his suit, and took it out to the Living Room.
Climbing onto the sofa, she took the oil painting off the wall, pried open the outer frame with the knife, and rolled up the painting carefully. Her eyes swept the empty wall, she gave a mischievous smile and quickly drew a few strokes on it with lipstick.
