The Art Thief's Guide To Freedom

3: Step Three: How To Walk Out Of Prison

"In the early morning hours of March 18, 1990, a pair of thieves disguised as police officers entered the Gardner Museum and stole 13 works of art by world-renowned artists such as Rembrandt, Vermeer, Manet, and Degas. The works, including Rembrandt's Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee (his only known seascape) and Vermeer's The Concert, are worth more than $500 million. This remains the biggest unsolved art theft in world history."

~Anonymous, Gardner Museum, 18 August 2012

~**~~**~

So the stint without handcuffs didn't last long.

Five minutes and 53 seconds to be more precise.

Though Nico couldn't exactly protest.

She wouldn't trust her without handcuffs either.

The legs shackles, she could go without, to be honest.

They were a bit excessive.

She wasn't a dangerous criminal in the slightest. Nico would argue that all of her crimes had been victimless (depending on who one asked).

In fact, her crimes specifically targeted bougie billionaires and power-hungry corporations. They could do with being knocked down a few pegs.

But apparently, the prison warden did not share her beliefs because he had shackled her to the metal table within seconds of entering the interrogation room.

Housed in a shroud of grey, the room was a replica of a post-apocalyptic bunker. (Minus the supplies and zombies scratching at the door.)

Nico couldn't tell if it was apprehension or anticipation that thrummed through her veins but she could feel the vibrations in her heart.

Her wrists were chafing from the handcuffs securing her to the table and she absentmindedly pulled at them. It only heightened the burning sensation in her reddened skin.

A bead of cold sweat ran down the middle of her back. It wasn't warm in the concrete-walled room. 

Actually, it was the opposite.

The frigid air did little to cool her nerves though. She was thankful for her darker complexion. It did wonders to hide any subtle blush that wanted to creep up her face.

She didn't know why she was so nervous. Maybe it had to do with the agent who had just walked through the doors. 

His sharp footsteps echoed throughout the room as the walls did little to absorb the harsh sound. Quickly, he rounded the table and took a seat across from her.

For a second, he paused. 

Examining her through hooded eyes. 

They were a brilliant limpid blue. 

Shards of ice fragmented after a winter's storm.

Her jumpsuit felt scratchy against her skin as the starch from the prison's laundry had coarsened the material further.

There was a file in the center of the table. It drew her attention as Agent Patterson leaned forward, a handcuff key in his right hand.

"Here," he started, unlocking the metal cuffs. "Let's get you more comfortable."

As soon as her wrists were free, she yanked them away, rubbing the raw skin. His eyes flickered down towards the movement and an apologetic look crossed his face.

It was quickly dashed away when Nico spoke tersely, "What's the deal for my freedom?"

"Ms. Stravos, I know that you must have many questions about what is going on. But first, I need something from you."