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“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins smoothly. “Welcome to an extraordinary offering. My name is Dariush Azad, and I will be your host this evening.”

By the polite ripple of applause, it seems Pavel’s assumed name is a familiar one.

“First,” he goes on when the applause subsides, “allow me to remind you all of the conditions of tonight’s auction.” He looks down at a piece of paper on the auction block. “As you were all advised prior to arrival,” he says, “no surrogate bids will be accepted. The man—or woman—who places the winning bid tonight will be expected to make payment in person. Payment will be made immediately upon conclusion of the auction, via the Mercura platform. No other form of payment will be accepted. Receipt of the goods will occur when payment has been verified. Are we all clear?”

There’s a murmur of assent from around the room. I studyeach of the figures, but again, I can’t make out any faces clearly.

Nerves claw at my belly.How am I supposed to identify Jacey if I can’t see anyone’s face?

“You each have a digital control,” Pavel goes on. “Each attendee has been assigned a number linked to the control, displayed on this board.” He gestures behind him and a screen comes to life, displaying the numbers one to twelve. “Bids will be taken by pressing the black button on your control. Before we begin, we will test each control, on my command. Number one.”

He looks at the screen as he calls each number in turn. A green light comes up next to the number as each attendee presses their button. A light also flickers on their chair when the button is pushed.

“Excellent,” Pavel says as the roll call comes to an end. “So. Let me introduce the piece in question.”

He nods to the corner of the room. A beautiful girl, whom I’ve seen during my Loop runs but who is now dressed in a scarlet figure-hugging evening gown and wearing the strained rictus smile of all the compound girls, comes forward and slips the cloth off the glass box.

The small gathering gasps.

Even I suck my breath in.

I’ve heard about Fabergé eggs before, and Dimitry even showed me pictures of some of the ones he’s handled during his time in Miami. But this is completely different to anything I’ve seen—and utterly magnificent. Gold feathers fan delicately around the egg like living things, vivid jewels at the end of each gleaming indigo, blue, and rose in elongated teardrops.

Pavel first describes the origins and manufacture of the egg. Then he enters a code, and the glass case opens. He manipulates a hidden catch on the egg, and it opens to display a diamond mountain and tiny peacock inside, which elicitfurther gasps from the crowd. Again, I’m more than a little impressed—not to mention secretly amused—by his transformation. I always knew Pavel was a tech genius. I just never imagined him in a tux, expounding confidently to an entire room of rare art connoisseurs.

“The legendary peacock egg was thought lost by the art world,” he says as he locks the glass case again. “Rumor had it the egg was placed in safekeeping by those close to Mariya Stenyavina, the tsar’s mistress, for whom it was made. But with the years those stories faded, as did her family name. Until recently, when, as many of you already know, the Naryshkin treasures were revealed to have survived the revolution and began to enter the market once more.”

Another ripple of interest goes through the crowd. I know about the rare treasures kept for decades beneath Darya’s family home, of course, since Dimitry was employed in the task of distributing them. But until now, I hadn’t given much thought to the impact those pieces might have made on the art market.

“The strict rules of this auction were set by the owner of this egg, who is the direct descendant of Mariya Stenyavina. The seller has requested to remain anonymous, which I’m sure you can all understand.”

Again, there’s a smattering of laughter.

“And with that,” Pavel says, smiling courteously around the room, “let us begin. Bidding goes in increments of one hundred thousand US dollars. Starting price is ten million. Who will give me ten million one hundred thousand?”

The chairs flash green in rapid succession, numbers lighting up on the board as the price swiftly moves up through the millions. Even though the auction itself doesn’t mean a thing to me, I can feel the edgy excitement in the room, exacerbated by the shadowy anonymity of the bidders. It’s difficult to see who is bidding from our position, thoughPavel clearly has a direct view. Rodrigo is stiff, his thumb pressing the button so fiercely I think he’ll break the control; Viktor, on the other hand, lounges in his chair with the air of one who is no stranger to bidding a small fortune for rare goods.

I study every corner of the room, searching for something, anything, that will give Jacey’s presence away, but all I see are silhouetted figures.

Where is he?

I’m trying not to let the tension get to me, but it’s impossible. With every incremental price rise, my panic rises too. Lucky is equally anxious, leaning forward as she attempts to get a better perspective on the faces in the room.

Where the fuck is he?I strain to see through the dim light.And where is Dimitry?

If Pavel is here, I know Dimitry must be somewhere close by. But not knowing where, or what exactly he’s planning, is killing me.

I guess it makes sense they used Pavel for the auctioneer—it’s hardly like Leon can auction off his own possession. Still, it makes me wonder where Leon is in all of this.

Not for the first time, I have a slight twinge of unease about him.

What if he’s been working for Jacey all along?

Something has been niggling at the back of my mind from the moment I laid eyes on Leon. Certainly since we talked on the patio at the villa. It isn’t that he gives me a bad feeling. On the contrary, I’ve found him oddly comforting to be around.

But that doesn’t mean he’s to be trusted.

And it doesn’t mitigate my sense of having met him somewhere before.