Page 33 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

The silence after he spoke stretched on.

Mr. Virelli stepped toward me again. “From whom did you purchase it?” he asked.

I swallowed. “A thrift store.”

His expression didn’t change enough to qualify as a reaction, but somehow the temperature of the room dropped anyway.

“A thrift store,” he repeated.

He didn’t believe me.

My fingers tightened around the pendant. “Yes. They’re these little shops where people exchange money for previously owned goods.”

Moira made a tiny sound beside me that might have been a warning or a prayer.

Mr. Virelli stared at me for one full beat.

James stepped in. “Ms. Bradley.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, even though it was not fine, but my mouth had historically enjoyed arriving at scenes before my better judgment. “I can see how my three-dollar origin story might seem less compelling than whatever archival nightmare is happening here.”

Mr. Virelli’s jaw shifted. “I don’t care what you paid for it. It is one of the pieces I’ve been trying to recover for years, and I want it back.”

My heart kicked hard once.

My first instinct was to hand it over. If something belonged to someone’s family, if it had been lost and they had found it, it was the decent thing to do. I wasn’t going to keep a man’s family heirloom because I’d paid three dollars for it and happened to look good in bronze.

But I also wasn’t stupid.

And suddenly, blazingly, I could see the shape of something I hadn’t thought could happen to me until it materialized in front of me wearing a perfect suit and a murderous expression.

Opportunity.

Possibly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I was an intern. One of six. Grinding for maybe two slots at the end of this whole humiliating little blood sport. I had a law degree, student loans, parents who had enough belief in me to count as pressure, and exactly zero margin for modesty.

I could be a nice person and hand him the necklace.

Or I could be a nice person, return the necklace, and not waste the only leverage I might ever have over a dragon client whose case was about to become the most interesting thing in this building.

That wasn’t greed. It was strategy.

Also, if folklore had taught me anything, it was that dragons could grant boons for returned treasure, and only a fool would hand over this kind of leverage without asking.

So, I took a breath, kept my hand at my throat, and said, “I bought it legally, and I’m more than happy to return it.”

Everyone in the room exhaled.

Then I added, “For a boon, of course.”

Everything stopped again.

Devon made a tiny choking sound that he tried to pass off as a cough. Marvin stared at me with naked admiration. James Payton’s brows went up. Helena Wallace’s expression didn’t move at all, which somehow made it more dramatic. Moira turned her head just slightly and looked at me as if she’d never seen me before and was trying to decide whether my nerve was a talent or a personality disorder.

Mr. Virelli just stared at me, then, very softly, he let out something that wasn’t quite a laugh and not quite an exhale.

“What,” he said, “do you want?”