Soon, we reached the antique jewelry workshop. I stepped inside with my arm through Riley's.
The old craftsman cowered behind his counter. In the middle of the shop stood a man in a black coat, his back to the door. I kept my eyes on the newly restored sapphire necklace in the display case.
At the chime of the bell, the man spun around. Even I was startled by the sight of Isaac.
One leg was lame, and he leaned on a cane in his left hand. Burn scars covered half his face. Perhaps it was the self-inflicted injuries and infection in prison, but he'd lost a great deal of weight.
When he saw my arm through Riley's, his eyes reddened. He threw aside the cane and limped toward us. Three steps away, Riley's guards pinned him to the floor.
"Luna! Who is he? Why are you holding another man's ar
