A cut stone flashed—blue fire, razor facets—set in a small mount with no origin stamp. Dan’s breath fogged the air. Jewelry? Samples? He had signed for “precision components,” nothing about anything like this.
A second box held another stone. A third, a thin gold ring with no hallmark. This wasn’t hardware. This was… wealth. Untallied, unlogged, and now scattered in the storm.
Behind him, tires hissed through water. A car slowed, then crept past without stopping.
Dan’s radio crackled—but the voice that came through wasn’t dispatch, and it knew his name.
