Six years had gone up so fast.
In old elite museum, a night patroller roamed around with a flashlight in his hand. He was certain no living soul would made it inside without blowing up the alarm because the administration installed the best security devices to keep thieves away from the place. However, there was some force inside him—like a hunch or something that drove him on his feet and do a patrol, making sure every corner of the museum was empty.
For the last six years, news about stolen pieces and artworks made by the Diamond Prince flooded the whole country. Every week, a masterpiece got stolen in just a split of second unexpectedly taking no considerable circumstances at all. Some pieces were stolen in bright lights, while all people were there and some got stolen at night, when darkness loom and there was nothing but the sound of emptiness.
