I walked to the pawnshop downtown—the kind of place you only enter when you have no other options left.
A bell rang as I stepped inside.
An older man stood behind the counter.
“Can I help you?”
I hesitated, then placed the necklace down.
“I need to sell this.”
He barely glanced at it.
Then his hands froze.
His face drained of color.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered.
“It was my grandmother’s,” I said. “Look, I just need enough for rent.”
“What was her name?”
“Merinda. Merinda L.”
He stumbled back like he’d been shocked.
“Miss… you need to sit down.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is it fake?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“No… it’s very real.”
Then he grabbed a phone with trembling hands.
“I have it,” he said. “The necklace. She’s here.”
A chill ran through me.
“Who are you calling?”
He covered the receiver.
“The master has been searching for you for 20 years.”
My pulse spiked.
Before I could react, a door behind the shop opened.
And then I saw her.
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