“This is just like the street fair where I last saw Olivia,” Lee murmured.
Then, without warning, he veered toward a stand labeled Adele’s Antiques.
I followed, catching up as he stopped before a table cluttered with trinkets and oddities.
“Look, there’s a sale going on,” Lee noted, his gaze sweeping over the items.
Behind the stand, an elderly woman—Adele, presumably—watched us with narrowed eyes, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“You two just here to gawk, or are you buying?” she demanded. “I’ve had enough lookie-loos for one day.”
I glanced at Lee, confused. “Lookie-loos?”
“Browsers,” he explained before turning back to her. He ran a hand over the scattered objects, fingers brushing over carved wooden figures, old pocket watches, and aged silverware.
Then, his palm landed on a dagger.
It was a cheap-looking thing, unremarkable at first glance.
Yet he lifted it, turning it in his hand, his expression shifting from idle curiosity to something else. Something close to wonder.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked, unusually quiet.
“Oh, that old thing?” The woman scoffed. “Pretty worthless, if you ask me. Some young fella passed by a little while ago—said he needed a drink and asked if I’d buy it off him.” She shrugged, uninterested.
Lee leaned in close. “This is the fake dagger I gave Olivia to trick Tristan the night she time traveled.”
My pulse kicked up.
“What are you two whispering about?” The woman unfolded her arms and wiped her palms on the grimy green apron tied around her waist.
Lee straightened. “I know this knife. What did the guy who sold it to you look like?”
She shrugged again. “Looked like a man desperate for a drink, that’s what. But he was about six feet tall, with light-brown hair, strong-looking… Oh!” She tapped beneath her right ear. “Had a mole right here.”
Lee and I exchanged a glance.
Her wrinkled brow lifted. “So, are you buying it or what?”
“Which way did he go?” Lee pressed.
She sighed, then jabbed a finger down the street. “There’s a bar a few blocks that way—O’Donnell’s. I’d bet my best trinket that’s where he was headed. Poor fella looked like he needed a drink.”
Lee turned to me, eyes bright with certainty. “That’s him. I know it.”
“Let’s go,” I said, already pivoting.
Lee let the knife clatter back onto the table, and we broke into a run.
“Damn lookie-loos!” the woman hollered after us.
As we hurried down the sidewalk, an engine revved ahead—a deep, snarling growl overpowered the hum of passing cars.
I turned my head, catching sight of a man astride a two-wheeled machine with gleaming silver trimmings, sleek black metal, and a leather seat.
The rider was dressed in charcoal-colored leather, heavy boots planted firmly against the ground. He leaned back, gripping the silver handlebars in place of a steering wheel.
“What’s that?” I pointed.
