He drove through Harmonfield’s rain-slicked streets, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Sarah sat beside him, silent but alert, the glow of passing headlights streaking across her face.
He didn’t speak, not even about Ryan.
Not about the Shadow Council’s threat.
Not even about the underground auction.
Instead, he pulled into the back lot of a condemned building on Church Lane—Harmonfield’s oldest surviving structure. Sarah looked up at the crooked silhouette through the windshield.
“This place is a museum,” she said quietly. “Or it was.”
Jack turned off the engine. “Old Joe said some things didn’t belong in plain sight.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Dragon Dagger.
It looked like a piece of ornate junk. Black steel with crimson etchings. The hilt felt warm. F
