Page 175 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“It could.”

“It could be a similar object.”

“Sure,” I agreed.

He stopped.

I swallowed. “It’s not, is it?”

Another pause.

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t think it is.”

There it was. The fifth relic.

The last missing piece, sitting in the background of a rich phoenix’s vanity documentary while I ate ramen in bed and almost died in a pajama hoodie.

Life had no respect for tonal consistency.

Rafe exhaled once. “You should be resting.”

“I am.”

“You’re conducting research while feverish.”

“I am watching television. The fact that television became evidence is not my fault.”

“This complicates things.”

“Because Dimitris has it?”

“Yes. And because if he wanted us to know, we would already know.”

I looked at the young version of Dimitris on the screen, his smile easy, his collection gleaming behind him. “What do we do?”

“I’ll look into it.”

“We’ll look into it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’re sick.”

I glanced down at Max. “Max says I’m fine.”

Max blinked.

“Quinn.” The concern in his voice made me briefly furious, which was easier than feeling what came underneath it.

“I can help. I want to help,” I said.

“I know.”

That shut me up.

“I know you can,” he said. “That’s not in question. But please, rest tonight.”