Page 116 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“The one with the lanterns.” She frowned. “Or the one with the snow.”

“We can look at the photo albums later.”

“Yes.” Her eyes brightened. “And my father will bring sweets.”

My father’s hand tightened slightly around hers. “Perhaps.” The word was gentle enough to break my heart if I let it.

I didn’t let it.

My mother lifted her cup, then stopped halfway. “I’m very tired.”

“Of course.” My father stood at once. “Let’s rest before dinner.”

I rose as he helped her to her feet. She accepted his arm, then paused beside me and touched my cheek. “Bring home the singing sword.”

“I will.”

“And bring someone who laughs at you.”

My father looked away. I didn’t dignify either of them with a response.

My mother smiled, suddenly tender. “You’re very handsome when you’re annoyed.”

I grinned. “I’ve heard that.”

“From whom?”

“No one reliable.”

She patted my cheek, then allowed my father to guide her inside.

The gardens moved gently in the afternoon breeze. Somewhere below, a gardener spoke softly to another, and water ran in the fountain near the west path. The estate wasn’t quiet, not truly. It was full of maintenance staff and memories. Full of things I’d inherited, and things I didn’t always know how to hold.

Bring someone who laughs at you.

Quinn’s laugh drifted through my mind before I could stop it. That was becoming a problem.

I walked to the balcony rail and looked over the reflecting pool, the orchard, and the old landing lawn beyond it. The changes were subtle enough that guests rarely noticed them. At first, I’d thought of those changes as losses. Small ones, perhaps, but losses all the same. The estate becoming less itself by degrees. Less grand. Less old. Less faithful to the form it had held for generations.

Quinn wasn’t a relic to recover or a problem to solve. She wasn’t a room to rearrange without consent because I found the current architecture insufficient. She had her own ambition, her own life, her own fierce little economy of effort and pride and jokes sharp enough to protect softer places.

And yet.

In less than two weeks, she’d accomplished what my wealth, my records, and my social standing hadn’t managed alone. The necklace by chance, yes, but chance didn’t explain the rest. She’d known to ask for a boon. She’d found Georgiana’s soft point by understanding Miriam. She’d turned a gala from an obstacle into a bridge.

Was she a good-luck charm, or was she simply that good?

The answer mattered less than the result, which was precisely why I didn’t trust myself to separate sound strategy from wanting her near. And my judgment was apparently abysmal when it came to Quinn Bradley.

I took out my phone.

The broken shrine mirror was going to auction that weekend. The auction house had confirmed the lot placement that morning. I’d planned to attend with my usual team and a small army of documentation, and have Moira, the junior on the team, on call if necessary. After the gala, that seemed insufficient.

Quinn saw angles I didn’t.

That was why I dialed her number.

She answered on the third ring, slightly breathless. “Hello?”