The neon sign outside Joe’s Pawn flickered, half-dead, like everything else on Blackport’s west side. Claire Larna, ex-forger, leaned on the counter. The diamond necklace in her palm wasn’t just fake—it was one of her old counterfeits. Ten years clean, and here was her past staring back at her.
“Where’d you get this?” she asked.
Joe scratched his chin. “Guy pawned it an hour ago. Thick accent, said he had a buyer lined up.”
Claire’s stomach tightened. Her work had been flawless, convincing enough to ruin lives. If this piece was resurfacing, someone was about to get played. She stepped out, shadowing Joe’s visitor to a dim bar near the docks.
Inside, a desperate man slid an envelope across the table. The accented seller smirked, pushing the necklace forward. Claire exhaled. No one escaped their past. Not really.
She took a seat beside the buyer. “Walk away,” she murmured. “Take the loss. Trust me.”
He frowned but hesitated.
The forger’s sins couldn’t be erased. But tonight, maybe one could be undone.
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