She paused to ask a street vendor for directions to the museum. She wished she could play tourist and visit the Hagia Sophia, sight-see while she was here, but she had to find that box. The cut on her arm was freshly healed, but it felt so strange, tingly even. She hadn’t thought it was so sharp, the damn thing. It seemed to bring a never-ending onslaught of surprises.

She reached the steps leading up to the museum’s entrance, and hurried up. Michael Varyer, the guest curator at the museum, was behind this, she could feel it. That bastard had an undying lust for antiquities with stories, and this had the story behind it.

She paid for her ticket and entered the expansive lobby. She took the stairs at a normal pace, heading toward the offices. Hopefully he’d put the box there, under the assumption she wouldn’t come to get it back. She opened the unlocked door, spied a memo on the desk. “Put artifact in safe.”

She had to get to the curator’s safe room, had to get the box before they tried to open it.