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“Most people who request information want to know what the piece is worth.”

“I already know what it's worth.” The skin around his stunning eyes twitched. “So, did it come from the Stylos Monastery?”

“Yes. What led you to connect it to the monastery?”

Tristan Bane ignored my question and gestured toward the cloth covering the reliquary. “May I?”

It wasn't as if I could say no. So I removed the cloth and set the reliquary on the cleaning pad before him. As I did, the strangest feeling came over me. I wanted to grab the reliquary and keep it away from him. I had to clench my hands into fists to stop myself.

His breath caught as he looked at the artifact. “So, you survived.”

What an odd thing to say. But I was too busy keeping myself from yanking away the reliquary to remark on it. “Use these, please.” I handed him a pair of cotton gloves.

“Thank you.” He pulled them on, but only leaned over the reliquary to look at the front panel.

His eyes twitched as he inspected the damage and then narrowed at the kneeling man. As he bent closer, his shirt, with the top two buttons undone, gaped enough for me to see down his chest. At first, the sight of his sculpted muscles threatened to turn my brain to mush, but there was something even more fascinating on his chest—a golden tattoo of intricate lines. The pointed tip started just below his collarbone and went through elaborate swirls and circles before terminating in another point above his waist. It caught the light and shimmered like gold. When he straightened, I got a better look at it for a second before his shirt covered it again.

Meanwhile, Sabrina had left her table to casually move closer. Her wireless headphones were still on, but the faint pounding of bass had stopped. She hovered near the ultrasonic cleaner, peering at a ceramic shard inside it while surreptitiously looking at Tristan.

“There are some Greek words etched within the border here.” I used the end of a brush to point at the words. “It says, 'Do not open yourself to heartbreak.'”

He picked up the reliquary and tilted it to study the inscription. “Not quite. It says, 'Do not open or you shall free heartbreak.'” He blinked and slid an oh-shit glance at me. Had he let something slip? “It's actually Attic Greek.”

“Free heartbreak? That's just silly.” Sabrina pulled an ear cuff away from her ear. “You can't put baby in a corner, and you can't put heartbreak in a box. Dem's the rules.”

Tristan made a soft huffing laugh, but his smile looked brittle. “Someone tried.”

“I can guess how that ended. Probably like my bellydancing career—it flopped.” Sabrina snorted and headed back to her table. “Good luck with Pandora's jewelry box.”

I frowned at her, but she only winked at me and turned her music back on.

Looking back at Tristan, I again wondered who he was. “How do you know that? I had that translated by one of our best.”

“I've studied ancient languages for a very long time.” His response sounded rehearsed.

“Do not open or you shall free heartbreak? That makes it sound like a prison.”

Tristan shrugged. “Perhaps they intended it to hold a relic they believed contained heartbreak, like a possessed doll.”

“You think a bunch of monks had a possessed doll in the 12th century?”

He chuckled fully, no brittle edge to his smile this time. “I was using it as a modern example, although they did have dolls back then. My point is; it was a time when people believed in the supernatural and ways to battle it.” He returned his attention to the reliquary. But he didn't inspect the ornate cloisonné, the cabochon jewels, or the writing. He focused on the damaged figure.

“It appears that someone tried to repair the damage, but they did a poor job.” I leaned closer, and his scent wafted over to me—something spicy and woodsy like sandalwood and cardamon with a hint of musk. “I'm going to remove the broken pieces and reconstruct the face.”

Tristan Bane looked from the reliquary to me. “You must be artistically talented as well as skilled in restoration to be chosen for this repair. The work is extraordinary and you'll have to match it.”

“I believe I'm the best we have at cloisonné, but I can only hope to come close to that level of detail.”

Suddenly, a commotion caught my attention. One of our junior curators stood in the corridor outside my lab, holding his phone before him, and shouting at the image of the woman on the screen. “Three months! Three months, Claire, and you couldn't even—”

A security guard, ran up. “Hey, buddy. Why don't we take this somewhere more private, huh?”

Visitors who'd been strolling past turned away from the glass walls to watch the man's breakdown instead of the conservators restoring paintings. By the time the security guard guided the curator toward the break room, I'd heard all about Claire's betrayal and how it had just ended their engagement.

“Sorry about that. We rarely have commotions here.” Even as I said it, my mind returned to the woman running past my lab sobbing and Sabrina's terrible breakup.

Beside me, Tristan had gone still, tracking the security guard and curator as if he were watching something far more significant than a broken engagement. Once they were gone, he returned to inspecting the reliquary.