The velvet box was heavier than it should've been.
Sloane slid it across the glass table, watching as the man across from him hesitated.
"Do you know what this is?" Sloane asked.
The man glanced around the restaurant's private lounge—elegant, hushed, full of curated shadows—then popped the box open.
Inside, Maya Russell's necklace gleamed like a dying star. Opal and gold, old magic buried in its luster. An heirloom, yes, but more than that—a key.
"You're insane," the man muttered, eyes wide. "You could sell this for a fortune—"
"I'm not here for money."
The man's hands shook slightly as he replaced the lid.
"I'm trusting you," Sloane said. "Don't make me regret it."
The man scoffed. "Anyone who bargains with Maeve never has a reason to regret it."
Sloane smiled— sharp and cold. "Hopefully that had better be true. For her safety."
In exchange, the man slid forward a sealed envelope and a flash drive.
