I couldn’t let that happen. My heart hammered against my ribs. Luzia’s hand trembled in mine.
Just then, a sharp crack echoed from the far end of the gallery, followed by a shout. The officer’s head whipped around, his attention momentarily diverted.
“Stay here,” he ordered, already moving toward the commotion.
It was our chance. I grabbed Luzia’s hand, pulling her with me.
“Hey!” the officer yelled, turning back toward us.
We bolted, weaving through the stunned onlookers, adrenaline surging through our veins.
Another officer stepped into our path, blocking the exit. “Stop right there!” he commanded.
Luzia gasped, her eyes wide with panic. Thinking fast, I feigned a stumble, bumping hard into the officer, sending him sprawling. He cursed, grabbing for me, but we were already past him, bursting out into the blinding sunlight.
The museum alarm shrieked behind us, adding to the chaotic symphony of shouts and sirens. I practically shoved Luzia into the Jeep, fumbling with the keys as my hands shook.
“That was close.” I gasped, throwing the Jeep into reverse, tires squealing as I sped away from the museum. Flashing lights filled the rearview mirror for a moment before I took a sharp turn, losing them. “Too damn close.” My attempt at lightness fell flat in the heavy silence of the car. Luzia was staring forward, her face a mask of hollow devastation.
I pulled over onto a dusty side street, the engine ticking. Words were useless right now. Action was all that mattered. Phone pressed hard against my ear, I made calls I hadn’t made in years, trading whispers for whispers, calling in markers I’d hoped to forget. The final whisper on the line gave me what I needed. Ricardo Silva. The Black Market. Ice traced a path down my spine.
Silva was a dangerous man, a notorious player in the murky world of stolen antiquities. This was much more complicated than I’d initially thought. I ended the call and looked at Luzia, whose pale, drawn face was still fixed on the road ahead. My resolve hardened. I had to get that box back for her.
“I have a name,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “The man who likely has yourSussuron. He operates out of the Black Market on the other side of the city.” I put the Jeep back in gear, the decision made. “It’s our only lead.”
Luzia finally turned to me, a flicker of her old fire returning to her eyes. “Then let’s go.”
The drive was tense and silent. I parked the Jeep two blocks away from the chaotic entrance, the sounds and smells of the market already reaching us. Before we got out, I turned to her. “This place is dangerous. Remember, don’t start a fight you can’t win.”
“I always win,” she said, a hint of a defiant smile playing on her lips. “So it won’t be an issue.”
I sighed, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant admiration. “Okay. But stay close and let me do all the talking. Promise me.”
“I will,” she said, her eyes fixed on the throng of people ahead.
Her words were meant to be reassuring, but as we were swallowed by the bustling chaos of the Black Market, the knot in my stomach tightened. The air was thick with spices, sweat, and the scent of illicit dealings. It wasn’t her I was worried about. It was the weight of the prize hidden under my shirt, and the fact that I was a medical student, not a fighter. How was I going to keep it from being taken?
The air hung thick with the scent of incense and decay as I navigated the labyrinthine market, finally locating Silva’s stall tucked away in its deepest recesses. Dimly lit and overflowing with dusty relics and forbidden treasures, it felt less like a shop and more like a tomb.
An elderly woman sat knitting by the entrance, a transistor radio crackling with tinny pop music beside her. Her eyes, sharp and shrewd, fixed on us with open suspicion, lingering a moment too long on Luzia. A prickle of unease ran down my spine, and I instinctively stepped in front of Luzia, shielding her from the woman’s gaze.
“Looking for something specific?” the woman asked, her voice surprisingly smooth yet edged with steel.
“A wooden box,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Intricately carved.”
A sly smile stretched across her lips. “I acquire many unique items,” she purred, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically. “And I’m always discreet. Perhaps if you were more forthcoming about what makes this box so special, I could be of assistance.”
“Let’s just say it has sentimental value,” I replied, my voice tight with barely suppressed anxiety. “And we’re willing to compensate you generously for its return.”
“I doubt you can afford it.” She chuckled, returning to her knitting. Then, raising her voice, she called out, “Silva! Do you know anything about a box?”
A beaded curtain rustled, and Silva emerged from the shadows, his eyes immediately locking onto Luzia with a predatory hunger that made my blood run cold.
Before I could react, Luzia stepped forward, her eyes blazing with a fierce, otherworldly light. The air around her crackled with unseen energy.
“We’re not asking,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous.
Silva’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease. He recognized the power in her stance, the barely contained fury, but the desire in his eyes remained, a dark, smoldering ember.
