Episode 2: The Vault
492 Words
Lyric pulled on powder-free nitrile gloves, settling into the focused calm of an appraisal. The world narrowed to the space before him—an empty pedestal, a ghost of a missing relic.
“Walk me through the security system,” he said, crouching before the glass surface.
“Retinal scan, weight sensors, AI motion tracking, and a physical key exclusive to my possession.” Caspian stood just behind his shoulder, voice even. “All authorized staff were off-site with verified alibis. No system logs register a breach.”
Lyric stripped off one glove, pressing bare fingertips to the cool glass. Gloves blurred residual energy. To read the past, he needed direct contact.
Faint residue flooded his senses: dry bone, a heartbeat with no body to call its own, a laugh that had turned to dust a thousand years ago. And underneath it all, a c***k—a cold, clean break, like someone had taken a knife to a shadow.
He pulled his hand back. “The dice aren’t eleventh-century. Ninth. And they weren’t just stored here—they were maintained. Routinely handled in some kind of ritual. This isn’t standard collection care.”
Caspian fell silent, the pause confirmation enough.
Evelyn lingered at the corridor’s end, arms crossed, unsurprised. “He’s sharper than the last two appraisers we brought in.”
“I’m standing right here,” Lyric said.
“Hence the compliment.” She pushed off the wall. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”
Seven cases lined the vault. Six held relics. One stood hollow.
Caspian walked him through each piece with practiced, stripped-down precision: Bronze Mirror, Iron Key, Silver Bone Flute, Obsidian Dagger, Blood Amber Pendant.
“Family heirlooms,” he summarized.
Lyric arched a brow. “Heirlooms don’t get AI-monitored, climate-controlled vaults and single-holder keys.”
Evelyn huffed a quiet laugh.
Caspian paused before the tarnished bronze mirror, his tone turning grave. “These artifacts hold protective power. My family has guarded them for centuries. They cannot be separated for long—not without consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?”
“The kind your unique skill set is needed to document.”
It was a deflection, and they both knew it.
In the elevator back upstairs, the air hung thick with unspoken tension. Lyric stared at the floor panel. “The empty pedestal has a carved symbol in the bottom-right corner. It’s not part of the original case design.”
“Provenance mark,” Evelyn answered too quickly.
“Provenance marks go on artifacts, not display surfaces.” Lyric’s tone was flat. “That was left intentionally—either by the thief, or hidden here all along.”
The doors opened. Caspian stepped out first.
“Your retainer starts today. Evelyn will brief you on access. Fourth-floor office is yours to use.”
Lyric watched him walk away. The elevator doors slid shut between them, leaving only the faint hum of the air conditioning.
- Writer
