Jeweled History: A Creative Writing Series - The Golden Bowl, The Hunt Begins (Chapter 6)

 

Gold & Lapis Bowl looted from the National Museum of Iraq during Operation Desert Storm.

 Chapter 6:  The Hunt Begins

The city stretched out beneath EJ like a living organism, pulsing with light and shadow.  From the penthouse windows, it shimmered under a thin veil of mist.  Beyond the skyline, the ocean lay in darkness, a silent witness to the unfolding secrets.

EJ pressed her fingertips against the glass, feeling the cool surface ground her thoughts.  Her reflection stared back — a woman with sharp eyes and a mind wired for patterns, for puzzles that others missed.  The Golden Bowl wasn’t just an artifact.  It was a cipher, a thread that could unravel a tapestry of greed, power, and blood.  And now, that thread was slipping through her fingers.  Deep down, EJ knew that Adam's guest room was going to become her own personal refuge.  

She turned, dropping her messenger bag onto the bed, the zipper whispering open as she finished unpacking with mechanical precision — laptop, files, the worn leather notebook that had followed her through war zones and boardrooms alike.  Outside, the night was making it's desires known, pressing against the windows, heavy with secrets and the dim hum of the city a distant murmur beneath the storm.

She paused, her fingers brushing the edge of the notebook, her mind replaying the last forty-eight hours like shards of broken glass.  Dubai had been a crucible — first the presentation of the seals, the threat written in crayon.  And now, the Golden Bowl was becoming more than a story.  It was a gauntlet that had been thrown at her feet, a challenge issued in crayon and scribbled on a yellow post-it.

The door clicked open, and Adam’s silhouette filled the frame — a wall of calm carved from granite, his presence humming with quiet authority.  

“Red,” he said softly, “SOC. Now.”

EJ’s pulse spiked, her breath steadying as she slid the notebook back into her bag.  She rose, shoes whispering against the floor, trying to reel in her mind.  Whatever waited in the SOC wasn’t just intel.  It was the first domino in a game she was just starting to play.  She followed him down the hall, the hum of servers bleeding through the silence like a heartbeat.  As the door to the SOC swung open, spilling light across the darkening hallway, EJ felt the shift — the story was no longer something she was chasing.  It was chasing her.

In front of her, Adam’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“You’ve got that look again.”

She looked up slowly, arching a brow, “What look?”

“The one that says you’re about to make my life hell,” he chuckled.

EJ smirked, though her pulse quickened.  “You mean the one that says I’m about to do my job?”

Adam moved closer, his presence filling the SOC with quiet authority.  His tailored suit couldn’t disguise the soldier beneath — the man who had lived in deserts and jungles before boardrooms and penthouses.  Every step he took was measured, precise, like someone who had learned to anticipate threats before they materialized.

“Your job doesn’t usually involve international thieves and artifacts people are willing to kill for,” he said, voice low.

“Details,” EJ replied lightly, though her mind was already racing.  She had spent both the car and elevator rides cataloging leads and now the plan was crystallizing in her mind.  “I need access to the museum’s archives, guest lists and any chatter about private collectors sniffing around Middle Eastern antiquities.”

Adam shook his head, jaw tightening.  “You’re not walking into the museum again.  Not until I know who left that warning and that is something my team is still working on.”

“Then we split the work,” EJ countered, her voice steady.  “You hunt the threat.  I hunt the bowl.”

Before Adam could respond, Rice appeared, phone in hand, expression grim.  “Sir, we’ve got something.  Corey pulled surveillance from the last four hours.  There’s a man — tall, Middle Eastern descent — seen leaving the Director’s office after Ms. Anne.  No badge, no record on the guest list.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed, “Send me the footage.”

Rice hesitated, “There’s more.  He was carrying a case.  Small.  Could fit something the size of—”

“The bowl,” EJ finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the room seemed to contract, the weight of the revelation pressing down on all of them.

"We don't know that," Adam broke the silence first.  "If the bowl is missing, why would he be carrying it around out in the open and at a museum no less?"

"You're right," EJ muttered.  "I'm getting ahead of myself.  Nothing would be that easy."

Adam nodded, before responding, “We move now.  Rice, get Corey and the team on that man’s trail.  I want to see if we can locate him in real-time.  Minute by minute updates.  EJ—”

“Don’t say ‘stay put,’” she warned, her chin lifting.  Eyes defiant.

Adam’s lips curved into a humorless smile.  “Fine.  You’re coming with me.  But you follow my lead.”

~

The elevator doors slid open into the underground garage, where the air smelled faintly of oil and rain.  A sleek black SUV waited like a predator in the shadows, its engine humming with restrained power.  Adam’s team was already in motion — Rice at the wheel, Corey hunched over a tablet glowing with surveillance feeds and two others armed and alert, their eyes scanning every angle.

EJ slid into the back seat beside Adam, the leather cool against her skin.  Her pulse thrummed like a war drum, syncing with the low growl of the engine.  She glanced at Adam, who was already issuing orders in clipped tones, his voice a calm in the storm.

“Where’s our guy?” he asked, eyes on Corey.

Corey didn’t look up.  “He appears to be at an auction house on the east side.  Private event.  No official registry, but chatter on encrypted channels says a ‘heritage piece’ is up for bid tonight.”

“The bowl,” EJ wondered aloud, her stomach tightening.

Adam’s gaze locked on hers, steel and fire in equal measure.  “If it’s there, and that's a big IF, this isn’t just a sale — it’s a brazen declaration to auction something like that off so close to its home territory.”

The SUV surged forward, tires biting into the asphalt.  Neon signs bleeding color into puddles like spilled paint.  EJ stared out the tinted window, the city blurring past, her mind racing.  She reviewed the dossiers of potential buyers on the tablet Adam handed her — names, faces, whispers of collectors who trafficked in historical contraband.  Each one a ghost in the machine.

Adam broke the silence, “You ever been to one of these?”

“Black-market auctions?” EJ’s lips curved faintly.  “Only twice.  Both times ended with someone bleeding.”

Adam’s expression didn’t change.  “Let’s keep tonight cleaner.”

EJ studied him for a moment, the hard lines of his profile etched against the glow of passing streetlights.  He was a man built for control, for precision.  But beneath that armor, she sensed something else — a tension coiled tight, a shadow of battles fought in places where rules didn’t matter.

“Tell me something,” she said, her voice low.  “Why does a guy like you care about a piece of gold?”

Adam’s jaw flexed before he pinned her with the most sincere look - one she hadn't seen since she was a kid.  “Because I care about you.  You will always be that gangly teenager to me.  You remember her, right?  That little viper who was ready to beat me to a bloody pulp for hurting her Mom?"

EJ swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.  She did remember her.  A shared history seemed so long ago and yet it was still as fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday.  She'd had many father figures in her life thanks to her Mom.  Adam and Craig were always the most prominent in her life, and the only two she still had any contact with.

Adam continued, "I actually care about right and wrong.  It’s not just about the gold.  It’s leverage.  Based on this dossier of potential buyers, whoever controls that bowl controls a network that spans continents.  Arms, intel, influence.  You think this is about history?  It’s about power.  It's always about power or control - most the time, it's both.”

EJ absorbed that, her pulse quickening.  She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed sharpened the stakes.  This wasn’t just an artifact.  It was a weapon of influence disguised as art.

Corey’s voice from the front seat interrupted her thoughts, “Heads up.  Security detail at the auction house is heavy.  I hacked into their security cameras and ran a facial recognition.  It flagged two ex-military contractors on site.  These guys aren’t rent-a-cops.  It's some serious muscle.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed.  “Sounds like they’re expecting trouble.”

“Or planning it,” EJ muttered.

The SUV veered onto a side street, the city’s heartbeat slowing as they entered a district of glass towers and manicured facades.  

Adam turned to EJ, his voice a quiet command.  “Stay sharp.  This isn’t a museum gala.  It’s a shark tank.”

EJ smirked, sliding the earpiece he handed her into place.  “Good thing I know how to swim.”

~

The auction house loomed above them like a fortress of glass and steel, its façade gleaming like polished obsidian.  Its entrance guarded by men in tailored suits with eyes that missed nothing.  At the entrance, luxury cars lined up and well dressed visitors walked up the carpeted steps to the lobby entrance where metal detectors scanned every person.  Men in tailored suits and women draped in silk moved with the languid confidence of predators who had never known hunger.  

EJ stepped out of the SUV, the cool night air kissing her skin like a cold whisper.  She adjusted the slim earpiece Adam had handed her, feeling its weight like a promise.  

“You really think we can just walk in?” she murmured.  "Won't we draw attention?  I feel so underdressed."

Adam’s smile was razor-thin, “We’re not walking.  We’re hunting.  Remember what I taught you, Red, walk in their with the same confidence you barged onto the military base so many years ago and no one will question what you're wearing.”

"Got it, fake it then."

Adam chuckled and EJ looked down at the clothes she still hadn't changed since the repatriation ceremony earlier.  It may not be formal attire but at least she wasn't wearing her standard uniform of ripped up jeans, t-shirt and tactical boots.  Taking a deep breath and stealing herself, EJ straightened her spine and schooled her face into a facade of an 'entitled-rich-lady.'  Their group then moved through the crowd like shadows, their presence swallowed by the opulence around them.  Adam's team scouted alternative entrances and exists to avoid the metal detectors while EJ and Adam headed in with the throng of well-dressed buyers.

Once inside, EJ’s senses sharpened, cataloging details — the scent of aged cognac mingling with expensive perfume, the murmur of foreign tongues curling through the air like smoke, the glitter of diamonds masking predatory intent.  Every face was a mask, every gesture a code.  The attendees seemed to be divided into a sort of clear hierarchy.  Certain buyers were approached by individuals who obviously worked for the auction house.  Whispers were exchanged before they were lead out of the main auction area.

EJ looked at Adam and nodded towards a gentleman with his head bent while an employee passed whatever the secret was into his ear.

"Looks like the auction we're interested in is happening elsewhere," she said.

"Agreed," Adam replied before asking, "Corey are you getting this?  Where are they going?"

Corey's voice crackled in their earpieces, "Yeah, Rice and team are inside.  It looks like staff are leading them to a private room down the hallway from the main auction."

"Thanks Corey.  We'll check it out," Adam responded.  "Rice, post your team around the main auction house and keep an eye on all the exists.  Mingle."

"Copy."

"I've got you all on my tablet and can guide you from the car in case you need immediate extraction or tech support," Corey added.

Adam looked at EJ, "This is where it's going to get tricky.  You didn't want to sit this one out so here you go.  We need to get invited into private room.  And by 'we,' I mean you.  I'm too recognizable to the types of folks in there.  You're our best shot."

EJ swallowed hard, "I've got this."  

"I just need a mark," she added as she scanned to room.

"Good ol' honey pot it is," Corey's voice chuckled in her ear.  "You might want to loose some of those layers first."

Adam laughed and looked at EJ, "I told you he was single."

EJ shot Adam daggers and continued to scan the room.

"EJ," Corey said through her earpiece, "your 4 o'clock.  See the guy with the salt and pepper hair and tightly trimmed beard?"

"Yes."

"His name is Victor Rashkophf.  Notorious womanizer.  Even more notorious Russian arms dealer.  He's your best way in," Corey stated.

"Got it," EJ responded as she took off her black blazer and handed it to Adam.  "Give me your scarf."

"I thought you were supposed to be removing layers," Adam eyed her quizzically.  

"I am but I also have to look like I belong here and a black pencil trousers and a white button down are not going to cut it with this crowd.  He's going to take one look at me and wonder who the Hell let me into this place."

"She's not wrong," Rice offered up.

"But I like this scarf," Adam whined.

"You'll get it back," EJ smirked.

Adam took his scarf off and handed it to EJ.  She positioned herself behind him and the large potted plant next to them before whispering, "Eyes forward, keep an eye on him while I figure out how to fix this mess."

Threading the thin scarf through the chunky gold necklace she was wearing, EJ quickly unbuttoned her dress shirt and crossed the scarf ends across her breasts before wrapping them around her back.  She then tied a delicate knot directly beneath her breasts accenting her cleavage.  Then she slipped off her button down, handing it to Adam, "Hold this too."

Adam turned around, blushing and gasped, "Shit, Red!  That was not what I was expecting."

"Corey said 'honey pot' so I had to make due," she smirked as she pulled her red curls into something in-between a messy bun and a french knot before securing it with the black hair tie that was always on her wrist.  Then she reached out and took the gold brooch off of Adam's label.

"Hey, anything else you need?  Kidney.  Car keys.  Manners," he quipped.

"Nope this will do," she laughed as she fastened the brooch to the hair tie that was currently containing her mop of curls.  "How do I look?  Good enough to grab the attention of a wealthy yet 'notorious womanizer'?"

"Um, yeah," Corey choked in her ear.  Rice laughed and Adam smirked.

"Go get 'em tiger," he said as he handed her a glass of champagne and a small tracking dot.  "Just in case the bowl actually is in there."

"Wish me luck."

"No need," Corey replied in a voice an octave deeper than normal.  Adam and Rice glanced at each other, exchanging knowing smiles from across the room as they watched an auction house staff member head for the mark.

EJ straightened her shoulders, took a sip of the champagne and swooshed it around her mouth before swallowing.  Then, she sauntered towards Victor Rashkophf with a plan formulating in her mind.

~

Once she got close enough, EJ pretended to stumble and reached out with her free hand for Rashkophf's arm to steady herself.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," she fumbled.  "My heel must of caught on something and threw me off balance.  I apologize for manhandling you!"

Rashkophf's eyes skimmed EJ from head to toe before a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.  "Not at all, it is my pleasure to be...as you said it 'manhandled' by such a stunning woman."

EJ presented him with the biggest doe eyes she could muster before fluttering her eye lashes and glancing towards the floor.  She'd known men like Rashkophf before.  They liked submissive women who flattered them and played into their egos.  EJ was none of those things naturally but for the sake of this story; she could lower her herself to play the part.

"Thank you for being such a gracious victim then," she giggled and stuck her hand out.  "EJ.  And you are?"

"Victor," Rashkophf replied as the auction house employee approached, leaning into whisper in his ear.

Rashkophf looked away from EJ for but a moment, "Of course, lead the way."

"Would you care to join me in the private auction," he held out his elbow to EJ.  "I'm told the treasures there are something to behold."

EJ slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.  "I'd love too!"

"She's in," Adam said.  "Rice keep an eye on where they go...discreetly.  Corey, make sure that tracking dot I gave her is active and keep an eye on it.  Bring the car around in case we need a quick exit."

Rice was already moving when Corey replied, "Copy that.  Tracking dot is active and I'm heading into position."

EJ and Rashkophf followed their guide through a door and down a long hallway off the side of the main auction room.  A discreet 'Employees Only' sign the only indicator that there was anything behind the door at all.

"Oooo, it's all so clandestine," EJ flirted, "like a romance novel where the main character falls for the villain."

Rashkophf chuckled darkly, "I'm simply a businessman."

"Of course," EJ giggled.  "I hate to admit it but those worried drugstore romance novels are my guilty pleasure.  I hope you don't think less of me."

"Not at all," Rashkophf replied, then leaning in, he added a bit conspiratorially, "we all have own vices.  I'm a sucker for that American TV show, Desperate Housewives.  I can't help myself."  He winked.

"Me too!  I get suckered in every time," EJ exclaimed.  Rashkophf patted her handed as their guide held the large door in front of them open.

"Please feel free to observe each of the pieces coming up for auction shortly.  Once the bidding starts, we ask that everyone remains seated."

Rashkophf nodded and the employee retreated.  EJ looked around the room.  Trying to take in as much as she could.

"Wow, this stuff must be worth a fortune with so much security here," she exclaimed to Rashkophf.  "There must be at least a dozen in here!"

"Copy that, EJ," Adam replied.  "Corey, can you get eyes in that room?"

"Negative," Corey replied.  "There are no cameras for me to hack into."

"Oh yes, my dear," Rashkophf replied.  "Millions will be thrown around tonight."

EJ gasped and feigned surprise.  Reaching out to put her champagne glass down on the waiter's tray.

"Let me get you another," Rashkophf smiled, before heading to the bar.

"Thank you so much."  EJ gave Rashkophf the flirtiest smile she could muster.  "I'll wait right here for you."

"Feel free to look around.  I'll find you," he replied with a smirk.  "Then you can tell me what I should bid on."  Then he winked as he turned and strode away.

EJ scanned the room,   at the far end of the room, a raised platform glowed under soft light, displaying treasures that hummed with history: ancient scrolls, jeweled daggers, relics stolen from the bones of empires.  And then… her breath caught.

A Golden Bowl.  THE Golden Bowl.

It had been missing for so long.  Why now?  To what purpose?  The questions flooded her brain as she headed towards the podium.  She tried to look as nonchalant as everyone else in the room.  She slipped from one display case to the next like a game of frogger in her quest to get closer to the bowl.  When she finally got there, she couldn't believe the beauty of it.  Goosebumps peppered her skin as she gazed at it.

It sat in a velvet-lined case, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly sheen, as if mocking every hand that had tried to claim it.  EJ felt the pull, primal and undeniable.  This wasn’t just gold.  It was a heartbeat, a whisper from centuries past, a secret that could topple kingdoms if spoken aloud.

"The second most beautiful thing is this room," Rashkophf whispered in her ear as his hand slipped to the exposed skin of her bag, he eyes dipped to look at her cleavage, champagne in hand.

"Can you believe this guy," Corey snorted in her other ear. 

"Take notes, Young One," Adam snickered back.

"Where's your glass," EJ pouted.  "I can't be the only one enjoying tonight."

"Alas, I'm here on business tonight but your company has made it all the more pleasurable," Rashkophf responded.

EJ could almost feel Corey's eye roll through her earpiece.  Rice's laugh wasn't much more subtle.

"Well then, I'm glad I could be helpful," EJ replied as she took a sip, looking at Rashkophf through her eyelashes.

“It's show time,” Adam murmured, his voice a low current in her ear.  “Corey get ready to create a diversion.  We can't bid on the bowl so let's try to tag it so we can follow who is the puppet master.  EJ, you copy that?”

"Who's that," EJ asked Rashkophf, "He looks oddly familiar to me."

Rashkophf followed her gaze to a figure near the platform — the same man from the museum surveillance footage.  Tall, poised, his expression carved from stone.  He spoke quietly to an attendant, then slipped a black card onto the bidding table with the ease of someone who had never been told no.

"Ah, I'm afraid that is actually someone that even I don't know," Rashkophf replied, the frustration and concern obvious on his face as he glared at the man.

"Oh, he must just have one of those faces then," EJ tried to sound unimpressed.  "He just looks like someone I thought I saw at one of the museums the other day when I was treating myself to 'me day.'"

"I copy you, EJ," Corey replied.  "You have eyes on the man from the museum security footage."

"A 'me day,' you say?  Perhaps you would let me spoil you with a 'me day' sometime," Rashkophf purred.

"I'm sure I would love that," EJ purred in return.

“Corey,” Adam said into his mic, “prepare to go with your diversion, kill the lights, and lock all the exits on my signal.  Rice, get ready for extraction.”

The team listened through EJ's earpiece as the auctioneer’s voice rang out, smooth and commanding, slicing through the hum of conversation.  “Ladies and gentlemen, we'll begin with the pièce de resistance — an artifact of immeasurable value and mystery.  Opening bid: five million.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd like a breeze through silk.  EJ’s pulse hammered.  Five million was just the start.  This wasn’t a sale — it was a war.

She scanned the room as she sat by Rashkophf's side, noting the players: a woman in emerald silk whose diamonds caught the light like shards of ice; a man with silver hair and eyes like frost, his paddle resting against his knee like a loaded gun; two figures in the shadows, their faces obscured but their intent radiating like heat.

Adam’s voice brushed her ear through the earpiece.  “Stay calm.  When I give the signal, see if you can get that tracking dot onto the bowl.  Rice is right outside the door to extract you.”

The auctioneer’s voice sliced through the hum of conversation like a scalpel.

“Do I have five million?”

A ripple of anticipation swept the room.  EJ felt the weight of every gaze pivot toward the velvet case.   The Golden Bowl gleamed under the lights, its surface whispering secrets. She forced herself to breathe evenly, though her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears.

“Five million,” the man said, his voice carrying like a blade through velvet.  The room hushed.  Even the champagne seemed to stop bubbling.

“Six million,” came a voice from the woman draped in emerald silk, her diamonds catching the light as she raised her paddle.

The numbers climbed like a fever: seven, eight, nine.  EJ’s fingers itched to move, to act, but Adam’s warning anchored her.  They weren’t ready.  Not yet.  Rashkophf's armed draped casually over her shoulders.

“Ten million,” the man said, his paddle raised with casual dominance.  Silence followed, heavy and absolute.

Adam murmured, “He’s not just buying.  He’s sending a message.”

EJ’s gaze locked on the man’s case — sleek, black, resting at his feet.  Was the bowl destined for that case?  Or was it bait for something bigger?

Corey’s voice crackled in her ear.  “Security detail’s shifting.  Two guards just moved toward the east exit.  Looks like they’re prepping for a fast handoff once the bowl is sold.”

Adam’s jaw tightened.  “That's where you'll have the best chance of getting the tracker on the bowl, EJ.  Think you can do it?”

“Of course,” EJ whispered.  Rashkophf gave her a puzzled look, she looked up at him.  "I mean of course something so beautiful would command such a high price."

"My dear," Rashkophf grazed her ear with his teeth, "you have no idea."

EJ fought back the repulsion growing in her stomach as she turned a sly smile on Rashkophf.

“Fifteen million,” the auctioneer announced.  Gasps rippled again.  EJ risked a glance — the man hadn’t flinched.  His paddle was still raised, his expression unreadable.

Adam’s voice came through her ear, taut with urgency.  “They’re going to move the bowl the second the hammer falls.  You're going to need to get ready and into position EJ.”

“Oh, ” EJ exclaimed, "I'm feeling a bit whoozy.  It must be all the champagne I've had tonight - another of my guilty pleasures it seems.  I just need to splash a bit of cool water on my face.  Promise you'll still be here when I get back?"  She reached down and squeezed Rashkophf's thigh just a tad closer to his groin than to his knee.

"For you, my dear, I will certainly not move a muscle," Rashkophf grinned like a predator who knew he'd cornered his prey.

“Twenty million,” the auctioneer declared.  Silence followed, heavy and absolute.  The man lowered his paddle.  No one else dared to challenge.

EJ’s hand brushed the slim tracker in her trouser pocket.  She swallowed hard.  Getting close enough would be like threading a needle in a hurricane.

“Sold,” the auctioneer said, his gavel striking like a gunshot.

The room erupted in applause, but EJ barely heard it as she moved towards the exit.  Her eyes were on the velvet case as attendants moved swiftly, lifting the bowl with reverent care.  The man rose, his case open now — a perfect cradle for history.  It was obvious that he’d had no intention of leaving the auction empty handed.

EJ slipped closer, her breath shallow.  One chance.  One heartbeat.  As the case closed, her fingers brushed its edge, the tracker sliding into place like a whispered promise.

"Done," she exhaled, retreating into the crowd as the man strode toward the guarded exit.  

Adam’s voice was steel in her ear.  “We’ve got a signal?”

“Strong and steady,” Corey replied, her pulse finally slowing.  “But the hunt’s not over.”

“No,” Adam said, “It’s just begun.  We need to get EJ out of there.  Corey, kills the lights.  Rice, get EJ and meet us at the front.  You'll have 3 minutes before the back-up generators come on, EJ needs to be out of that room before that.  Rashkophf cannot see you grab her.”

"Understood."

The lights went out as EJ headed towards the door she and Rashkophf had come in.  Within moments, a firm hand grabbed her elbow and began guiding her.  From the size, she knew it was Rice.  

"Ladies and Gentleman, apologies for the delay, I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about.  Please remain in your seats while we work to resolve the situation and continue the auction.  Your patience is appreciated."

Outside, the night had deepened into a velvet shroud, rain thinning into mist that curled around the city like smoke from an unseen fire.  EJ stepped under the awning as Adam wrapped her blazer jacket over her shoulders and guided her towards the waiting car.  Her breath fogging in the damp air.  As they sped away, she could see the tracker’s signal pulsed on Corey's screen — a fragile tether to a storm that was only gathering strength.  Somewhere in the shadows, the bowl was moving.  And with it, the next domino in a this game.

She stared at the glowing dot, her mind already leaping ahead.  Whoever had paid twenty million for that artifact wasn’t just a collector.  They were a player in a high-powered network.  And, EJ was in their orbit.

Adam looked at her, his presence always the calm against the chaos.  His coat was dark, rain beading on the shoulders, his expression carved from granite.  “You did good,” he said quietly.

EJ didn’t look at him. Her eyes were unfocused.  Simply staring ahead into the night, pondering the secrets it held.  Rice was at the wheel, Corey deep in thought staring at his tablet glowing with data streams in the passenger seat.  

“Signal’s strong,” Corey said, his fingers dancing across the screen.  “They’re heading south.  No stops yet.”

“Destination?” Adam asked.

“Could be the docks,” Corey replied.  “Or a private airstrip.  Either way, they’re moving fast.”

Adam’s gaze flicked to EJ, his eyes hard steel.  “This isn’t just about the bowl.  It’s about what comes next.”

EJ nodded, her pulse steady now, her resolve crystallizing like frost.  “Then we need to stay ahead of them.”

As the SUV peeled away from the curb, EJ watched the city blur past.  And somewhere beyond the fog, a man cradled a bowl worth more than the gold it was made of, more than history.  A bowl that could ignite wars in boardrooms and back alleys alike.

EJ closed her eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the tires lull her into focus.  The game had shifted, the game she hadn’t even been sure she wanted to play.  But now, the rules were gone.  And the only certainty was this:

The hunt was only beginning.

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