They charged into the office just as she got the window open. The curator Michael and his meathead guards filled the doorway in seconds. She brought the first guy down with her car key, a quick blow to the temple, then pretend you’re turning on a car, just like First Sargeant had taught her all those years ago.

She took out 4 of the burly guards before one jabbed a syringe into her neck. She managed to grab his hand and break a few fingers before the mist descended on her, calming and terrifying all at once. There were images of horrible goblin things, like in her dreams, a woman’s frantic crying in a language she could barely understand.

The woman’s words hung in the air. It wasn’t Greek, at least, not Mycaenean. Suddenly, the woman’s face appeared in the mist. She began whispering in modern Greek. The goblins devoured babies around her, the mist was blood. “My cursed box…”

She was finally coming out of the drugged haze, then Michael dumped a bucket of water over her.

“Awake yet, thief?”