Alister

  The crosswalk stretched ahead, mundane and sunlit, except for the small observer at my side. The little boy shuffled beside me, backpack slung loosely over one shoulder. He didn’t look at the traffic—no, his eyes were glued to something far more interesting: my hands.

  I glanced down. My nails were streaked with dried blood. Stubborn little trophies of the morning’s chaos.

  A soft gasp escapes him before his green eyes shot up to mine. I smirked, slow and deliberate, pressing a finger to my lips.

  Shh.

  The effect was instantaneous. His face paled, eyes widening as if he'd glimpsed a ghost—or worse, a villain in one of those cautionary bedtime tales. He stumbled backward, then bolted. Tiny feet pounding against the pavement as his backpack flailed behind him. I chuckled, watching him disappear as I crossed the road.

  Nothing like terrifying a kid first thing in the afternoon. Like warm tea on a rainy day.

  I finally reach the restaurant, whose exterior is a quiet testament to time—warm honey-colored stone, a pitched roof, and windows divided into delicate leaded panes framed by ornate metalwork.

  I straighten my jacket, wipe a smudge from my glasses, and step toward the entrance—but freeze.

  A familiar figure lingers near the outdoor seating, her blue eyes darting inside, while restless fingers twist in nervous rhythm.

  No. Why is she here? How long has she been standing there?

  I wait as I watch her try to make up her mind whether to go in or not. Finally, she pivots, the sunlight catching the swing of her blond ponytail, and she starts away. Practically running in heels as she tightly clutches her blue handbag, that of course, matches with the rest of her attire.

  I walk up to the glass doors, peeking inside to see what she was looking at.

  Her friends are seated in a comfortable-looking booth, fully engaged in conversation and laughter. Their table is buried under coffee cups, loose papers, and a couple of neglected textbooks. A study session disguised as an excuse to be together.

  I push inside. Warm light flickers across the wooden floors, sliding over plush chairs and neat white tablecloths. The air is rich with the smell of roasted herbs and something sweet on the grill, the kind of scent that makes your stomach tighten even if you swore you weren’t hungry.

  After scanning the area, My eyes land on the lone woman in baggy clothes. Sitting at a table in the far corner, stuffing her face with spaghetti.

  "Alister!"

  I turn to see the friend group as they beckon me over to their booth. Gritting my teeth, I walk over to them.

  I need to get them out.

  "What brings you here?" Sophia asked, surprise flashing across her dark eyes. Probably because she's never seen me outside campus walls.

  "The desserts here are exceptional." I reply. Then, leaning in, as if I'm about to tell a secret, I ask. "by the way, I saw Austin outside. I guess she left early?"

  The table falls silent, all four of them exchanging disbelieving glances. "What? Clara was here?" one of them asks.

  I straighten up. "Oh, I just saw her staring at you from outside."

  The group's demeanor shifts, their concern and confusion palpable "Is she avoiding us?" Agnes, the one with braids, turns to Sophia, who's already stiff with unease.

  "Maybe it's about the birthday party tonight," another chimes in. "She said she’d call once she convinced her dad."

  "Why does she need permission? Isn’t it her party?" I ask, tilting my head with just enough innocence to cut deep.

  "Well… it’s complicated," someone mutters, weakly.

  "Still," I press, my eyes on Sophia, "you’re her best friend. Shouldn’t you know?"

  Her composure cracks. "Excuse me," she mutters, grabbing her bag with a quick, jerky movement. She’s already dialing her phone as she storms out, the others trailing after her in a worried flock. I sigh in relief, finally alone with no one who knows me around.

  I make my way towards the lone woman. Stray curls escaping the messy bun atop her head, framing her face in a way that makes her look both disheveled and highlights the lines on her face.

  "I hope you payed for that." I settle on the seat across her. Brown eyes follow my every move.

  Her gaze sharpens, still chewing, as if deciding whether to roll her eyes or let the comment slide. When she tries to respond, her words come out garbled, unintelligible.

  "Lily, don't talk with your mouth full," I say, ignoring the irritation that flickers across her face. "Surprising how working for a wealthy family, surrounded by class and discipline, you still haven't learned any manners."

  The clatter of her fork hitting the plate is sharp and intentional. She swallows, lips pressing into a thin line before she speaks.

  "When you spend time in a lion's den, trying to dig into every corner, learning etiquette should be the least of your worries."

  "So, where is it? Do you even have it?"

  She rolls her eyes as she takes out her phone "Always with the skepticism. I should charge you extra for that." She types something in her phone and holds it out for me to see.

  The image she shows me isn't just a lucky find-it's something someone didn't want seen.

  A photograph of a torn page from, what looks like, an old accounting ledger. Hidden beneath a false bottom of a desk drawer. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but the numbers and names are still visible. Transactions that shouldn't exist. Payments made to individuals with no official ties to the family business.

  Lily watches my reaction, a slow smirk creeping onto her lips. "Still think I don't have it?" she murmurs, flipping the phone back toward herself. "Now, let's talk payment."

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  "You'll get what I promised," I say, leaning back and crossing my arms "No more, no less."

  She scoffs, leaning forward, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. "See, that's where we disagree, kiddo. Digging through that studyroom isn't easy. I have to be real careful. Do you know how hard it is to make sure the man doesn't suspect a damn thing? While you just sit here listening to everything." She points her fork at me as she continues "That kind of work deserves a bonus."

  I don't react. She's testing me, seeing how much she can squeeze out before I shut her down. The problem with her is that she does her tasks really well. And she knows it.

  "I'm not stupid, Lily. You knew what you were getting into. If I start handing out bonuses every time you decide something was 'harder than expected,' I might as well just hand you my entire wallet."

  She grins. "Now you're getting it."

  My jaw tightens, but I don't let the irritation show. "Five percent extra. That's it."

  Lily studies me, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she lets out a dramatic sigh and leans back in her seat, stretching her arms. "Fine." She picks up her fork again, twirling a piece onto it. "Pleasure doing business with you."

  My eyes are drawn to the TV fixed on the wall near the counter. The anchorwoman has a serious expression and the grim tone of her voice.

  "Richard Calloway, a prominent financier facing multiple embezzlement allegations, has been found murdered under disturbing conditions. Authorities confirm that he died after molten gold was forcibly ingested, resulting in fatal injuries. Investigators continue to examine the circumstances surrounding his death."

  Lily follows my gaze and lets out a low whistle. "He did love his gold."

  A photo of the man flashes on the screen-mid-fifties, graying hair, expensive suit, the kind of arrogant smile only men with too much power and too few consequences ever wear. Not anymore.

  My phone vibrate in my pocket and take it out. A message from him. Saying he'll be here in 10 minutes. I click my tongue and type a curt response.

  Lily raises an eyebrow. "Somewhere you need to be?"

  I let out a weary sigh "Just have to meet an irritating classmate. He wants my opinion on an antique gift for his grandmother."

  She chuckles, taking a sip of her drink. "Anything for antiques, huh? Still, good to see you finally hang out with a friend. You never talk about such things."

  I narrow my eyes. "He is not my friend. He's the human equivalent of a headache." I reply flatly. "Plus, I also need to get a gift for Austin's party tonight."

  She hums thoughtfully, swirling her drink. "If you haven't bought anything for her yet, she's really into jewelry these days. Wouldn't stop talking about it to her friends on the phone. A little insider's tip."

  I shake my head as I stand. "Focus on important matters instead of useless conversations."

  She scoffs. "It's called multitasking." She then hesitates, before continuing "You, know, I'll say this once again. I feel like how strictly the kid is treated in that—"

  "Please," I stop her. "Just stick to the goal." I say as I make my way towards the door.

  The bell chimes as I step out into the cool air, which I'm so thankful for, seeing as the weather these days has been nothing but humid, the conversation lingering in my mind.

  Clara Austin. Even just thinking about her name is enough to put me in a foul mood.

  She's the spoiled, self-absorbed daughter of the Austin family. She walks around like she's better than everyone else. Perfect posture, carefully curated smiles, just the right amount of charm to make people think she's kind.

  She's fake. The way she carries herself, the way she subtly forces people to like her. She never outright demands admiration, she nudges people toward it. A well-placed laugh here, a falsely modest comment there, a strategic display of vulnerability when necessary. It works.

  And to make things worse, she somehow managed to score higher than me on the midterms. I studied for weeks. Hours of preparation, careful notes, revising every possible question. And yet, when the results came out, there she was-just above me.

  It's infuriating.

  Did she bribe someone? Or is it just another case of the world handing her things on a silver platter?

  I exhale sharply, shoving my hands into my pockets. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

  Because soon, the life she clings to will come crashing down like a house of cards. And I'm going to enjoy every second of it.

  This shop, 'Curios and Relics,' seems fascinating. I've never payed much attention to it as the store's exterior is unassuming, with faded letters and a worn wooden sign. But the windows are filled with an assortment of intriguing items. A vintage typewriter, a collection of old cameras, and a beautiful music box on display.

  "Sorry I'm late!"

  I turn to see Zach walk up to me. He's your typical tall and muscular, with the kind of athletic build that makes it obvious he spends more time in the gym than behind a desk. Something he's proud to show off seeing as all he ever wears are shirts that seem a size too small. And, of course, he's smiling-his usual wide, easy grin.

  I don't want to be here with him, but I was interested in checking out this store. We are not friends. I do my best to avoid interacting with people like him.

  Zach doesn't seem to notice, or care, that I'm not exactly thrilled to see him. "Man, this place is cool. Didn't think you'd be into this kind of stuff." he says, peering into the window beside me with his green eyes "So, where do we start?"

  "Going in." I walk over to it, push open the creaky door and step in. The air is thick with the scent of old books and dust, and the sound of classical music plays softly in the background. I wander through the rows of shelves and display cases, taking in the vast array of antiques and collectibles on display.

  "So, what do you recommend?" He asks.

  I glance around, scanning the items. "That...depends. Your grandmother, does she have any particular interest in antiques, or are you just hoping she'll like something old and vintage?"

  Zach shrugs. "She likes stuff with history, I think. Something with a story behind it."

  As I browse, my fingers trail over the taxidermied squirrel, and I pause to examine a detailed marble decoration. I could spend hours in a place like this.

  "What about that?" Zach calls out pointing to a locket. He turns with a smile to the breaded shop owner who had been watching us the whole time. "Can you take it out."

  The man hums in approval and carefully retrieves it, setting it down on a red velvet cloth. Up close, the locket is even more striking. It's small, oval-shaped, made of aged silver with floral engravings.

  The man wipes his hands on a cloth before answering. "This came in with a batch of estate items a few weeks ago. Belonged to a woman who immigrated here in the early 1800s. She carried it everywhere, they say. It was found tucked inside an old sewing box with her letters."

  I glance at Zach. "Your grandmother wanted something with history. This has history."

  My eyes land on a small wooden box nearby, its lid left opened. Leaving the shopkeeper to finish Zach's purchase, I step closer, drawn by the craftsmanship. The walnut wood is rich and smooth, its surface adorned with intricate carvings. Elegant patterns that seem almost too precise to be done by hand. Picking it up, feeling the texture beneath my fingers, I examine it more closely.

  Exquisite. The level of detail, the precision...this is amazing.

  I peer inside. Nestled within the black velvet-lined interior are two small white gemstones. They catch the dim shop light in a way that makes them seem to glow silver. Like moonlight captured in solid form, cool and ethereal, as if it doesn't quite belong to this world.

  But it's not just their beauty that unsettles me. It's the familiarity.

  why does it suddenly remind me of her...The white hair and kind eyes that looked at me as she smiled.

  "Ah, that's quite the find." Behind me, the shopkeeper approaches, his voice light but knowing. "They came from a collector, months ago. He never said much about them-only that they were precious. That they carried a kind of... truth."

  A convenient word. Vague enough to mean nothing, yet suggestive enough to make people want it to mean something.

  "It's said to be imbued with mystical properties." He adds on.

  "Mystical properties?" I repeat.

  The shopkeeper leans in, "Yes, it's said that these gems have the power to grant wishes to those who possess it. But be warned, the wishes come with a steep price."

  I raise an eyebrow. Does he think I'm a child? Do I look like someone who would believe in magic?

  "Looks nice." Zach appears behind me, his present already wrapped up.

  "I'll take this. And that pocket watch." I say to the shop owner, my mind made up.

  "Now let's go get Clara's gift. Unless you've already bought it?" He asks as the owner leads us to the counter.

  I don't want to go through that hassle. I suppose I'll just give her one of the gemstones. She can make whatever jewelery she wants with it.

  "Yes, I have."