![]() ![]() Even with her sharp half-Fae hearing, she couldn’t make out much beyond the iron door save for the occasional banging fist. With no exterior windows, the gallery’s extensive surveillance equipment served as her only warning of who stood beyond its thick walls. ![]() ![]() “You’d know if you ever picked up a book, Danika.” Glad for the break in what had been a morning of tedious research, Bryce smiled as she rose from the desk. She wiped at it with a filthy hand, smearing the black liquid splattered there. “What the fuck does rootling mean?” Danika hopped from foot to foot, sweat gleaming on her brow. Tucking a strand of her wine-red hair behind a pointed ear, she asked into the intercom, “Why are you covered in dirt? You look like you’ve been rootling through the garbage.” Seated at the desk in the modest gallery showroom, Bryce smirked and pulled up the front door’s video feed. A heartbeat later, a female voice barked, half-muffled through the steel, “Open the Hel up, B. The heavy metal door to Griffin Antiquities thudded with the impact of the wolf’s fist-a fist that Bryce knew ended in metallic-purple painted nails in dire need of a manicure. Which meant it must be Thursday, which meant Bryce had to be really gods-damned tired if she relied on Danika’s comings and goings to figure out what day it was. ![]()
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