Page 117 of The Twilight Theft

Easy peasy.

I was in without a sound. I locked the door behind myself and stopped.

Listened.

No noise, other than the soft hum of an air exchange unit above me.

I pulled my small red light flashlight from a pocket on my thigh and lit up the room. The back door led into a kitchen, which I moved through quickly. Past that was an office and a workshop. Nothing obvious in either of them.

The shop was long and narrow, its walls and a center aisle covered in shelves and glass display cases. Every horizontal space was crammed with items of various sizes. Vases, boxes, paintings, cutlery. I hadn’t even decided what I’d take the last time I was in. It hadn’t mattered.

All that mattered on Thursday night was Drew.

He got you out of his system, after all.

As I moved through the space, scanning shelves, I glanced at my phone. No one was in here. I could hit the right spot on my phone to wake it and see if he’d responded to my text yet.

No, the whole team would know you potentially gave yourself away to the interior cameras.

I had to find the bird, recover it, and think about Drew later. Or not think about him. I could board the jet tomorrow morning—or whenever we left—and close this chapter in my life. Officially never come back to Washington again.

The bird wasn’t out in the open. Not in the front window. I ducked behind the cash register’s counter and my flashlight glinted off gold. Wedged between a metal box and a mug full of pens, the huma bird sat waiting for me.

It didn’t have a beak.

It had a beak at the gala, didn’t it?

“Found it,” I whispered as I rested the flashlight on the counter, illuminating the space behind the register. I placed my pack on the floor, ready to receive the statue, but as I crouched down and got a better look, something else caught my attention.

A white envelope stuck out from underneath the statue.

Did they go together?

I tipped the bird and pulled out the envelope. Someone had scrawled ‘Scar’ across the front and sealed the back. “There’s something here for the boss. I think it’s a letter.”

Was it from Noah? Was I supposed to open it?

The two buzzes on my watch didn’t help. What didGo forwardmean now? Go forward and open it? Or go forward by collecting the bird and leaving? Probably the latter.

Assuming it was from Noah, he’d know Scarlett wouldn’t be in the shop. If he’d meant for me to open it, he would have put my name on it. I stuffed the sealed envelope in the bottom of my bag and wrapped my fingers around the little statue.

A door opened and closed at the back.

I grabbed the flashlight. Switched it off and slid it into my thigh pocket. I got low on the floor and peeked around the corner.

The overhead lights didn’t come on, but a narrow flashlight beam swept across the room.

It wasn’t Emmett. He would have said my name.

But it wasn’t someone who was supposed to be there, either.

I tapped three times on my phone screen to alert the team of the danger.

Two bursts on my watch came in response. Emmett would be packing up already, heading for the ladder at the back of the building. He’d be at the front door in five minutes as a distraction.

High heels clicked on the linoleum in the kitchen. Definitely not Emmett, nor Noah. The sound stopped and the flashlight went dark.

Dim light filtered in through the front windows. I eased down to the floor and peered around the end of the counter. Watching. Waiting. An ache spread through my left leg, but I could push through it and run or sneak deeper into my hiding spot.

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