"I don't know where my brother is." The words come out too fast. "I haven't seen him in weeks."
"Hmm." Artem slides the paperwork back to me. "That's unfortunate. When he surfaces, tell him we need to have a conversation."
"I know he owes you money..."
Artem smirks. "He owes a lot of people a lot of things."
He says it pleasantly. Like he's discussing the weather. But there's something underneath. Something cold and dangerous.
"If you see him," he continues, "tell him time is running out. For everyone involved."
He takes his card back, and my hands are shaking too much to look at what he wrote on the paper immediately.
"You should be more careful, Seraphina. Beautiful thingsget broken in this city. Especially when they're connected to the wrong people."
Then he's gone.
I stand frozen behind the counter, my mind racing.
He knew my name. My full name. I never told him.
He knows Gabe. Knows what he's involved in.
And he came here. To my work. To deliver a message.
I look down at the paperwork. The moment the door closed, my eyes drop to the page.
The name field is blank. The address field is blank. Contact information—blank.
In the middle of the page, in neat, precise handwriting:
Tell Gabriel I'll be in touch.
My hands start shaking so badly I have to set the paper down.
I grab my phone with trembling fingers and step into the back room.
I dial Gabe's number. It goes straight to voicemail like it has for six weeks.
"Gabe, it's me. Call me back. Now. Someone came to the shop asking about you."
I hang up. Try again. Voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
On the fourth try, he picks up.
"Gabe, thank God?—"
"What." His voice is flat. Cold.
"Someone came looking for you. At the bookshop. He knew who I was, he knew about you, he said?—"
"Did he threaten you?" He sounds bored.
"Kind of?—"
"Is he still there?"
