“The seal marks don’t match the documented period.” She moved to the next display case without waiting for my response. Her steps were efficient, no wasted movement. “The jade itself is authentic, but someone added the base sometime in the last century. Probably to increase the sale value.”
“So it’s a partial forgery.”
“It’s a restoration that became a lie.” She tapped her slate, making notes. “There’s a difference. The original artist created something beautiful. Someone else tried to make it worth more by pretending it was something it wasn’t.”
I watched her. She wasn’t just giving me a tour. She was playing a role. And under that professional veneer, she wasassessing me just as I was assessing her, looking for the authentic pieces, the later additions, the careful lies.
“And you can tell the difference,” I said.
“It’s my job.” She glanced at me finally. Those brown eyes were sharp. “Senator Tarsus values accuracy.”
“I’m sure he does.” I stepped closer to the case, studying the sculpture. The jade had been carved by someone who understood how stone held light. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Six years.”
“That’s quite a commitment.”
“That’s quite a contract.” She finished her notes on the slate and glided to the next case. This one held Thal’reth pottery fragments. The kind of pieces that went for absurd prices because the extinct civilization’s artifacts had become the ultimate collector’s obsession. “You mentioned interest in Thal’reth antiquities specifically. What draws you to their culture?”
The question was soft, but the implication was clear. She was probing. Trying to figure out what I actually wanted.
Fair enough.
“Scarcity,” I said. “They left behind so little. What remains has value beyond the material.”
“Sentimental value.” Her tone suggested she didn’t buy it.
“Historical value.” I moved to stand beside her. Not crowding, but close enough that she’d have to acknowledge my presence. “I’m curious about civilizations that managed to create beauty that outlasts them.”
“We’re all temporary.” She made another note on her slate. “These fragments are from the Thal’reth temple district, approximately their Fourth Dynasty. The authentication is solid. The seller provided compositional analysis that matches known excavation sites.”
“You verified the analysis yourself.”
“Of course.” She looked at me again. “Would you purchase something based solely on someone else’s word?”
“No.” I studied her profile. The way she held herself, the careful distance she maintained. “I prefer to verify important claims personally.”
A black shape moved at the edge of my vision. Flinx had been following us through the museum, always at a distance, always watching. Now he positioned himself between Carys and me, his sleek black form settling into a sitting posture that managed to be both elegant and threatening.
His eyes glowed analytical blue, but his ears were flat. Every line of his synthetic body screamed distrust.
“Flinx,” Carys said quietly. “Stand down.”
The cat didn’t move.
“He doesn’t like me,” I observed.
“He doesn’t like most people.” She didn’t call him off again. “He’s protective.”
“Of you, or of the artifacts?”
“Both.” She moved deeper into the museum wing, and Flinx immediately repositioned, maintaining his barrier between us. “These cases hold more dangerous pieces. A Zhyx ceremonial blade. An Orlian poison dispenser disguised as a music box. Things that could kill if handled incorrectly.”
She walked past them without hesitation. Too comfortable. Too familiar with exactly which ones were dangerous and which were merely valuable.
“You’re very comfortable around hazardous materials,” I observed.
“I’m trained for hazardous materials.” She stopped in front of a case containing what looked like a decorative Genditi mask. “This piece, for example. Beautiful craftsmanship. Also designedto release neurotoxin if worn by someone without the correct genetic markers.”
