Page 48 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf

He turns the laptop around so we can all see the screen. The site is bare-bones, black background with white text, the kind of stripped-down interface favored by those who don't want to be found. At the center of the page is a listing with multiple high-quality photographs of the tiara.

Seraphina's gasp confirms it before she even speaks.

"That's it. This is the Draak tiara."

The emeralds catch the light in the photos, the platinum band gleaming. Even through a computer screen, the craftsmanship is unmistakable, ancient dragon artistry that no modern jeweler could replicate.

Julia leans forward, squinting at the images. She suddenly inhales sharply.

"The tablecloth," she says, pointing at the background in the photos. "Look at what the tiara is sitting on."

I follow her finger to the edge of the frame. The tiara rests on a distinctive embroidered linen with a subtle pattern of intertwined vines and flowers.

She locks gaze with Seraphina for a moment, then turns back to me.

"Those are Seraphina’s custom-ordered linens, no mistake about it. The combined Draak-Ashbane crest is embroidered at the corner, right here," Julia continues, pointing to a subtle pattern in the embroidery that I would have otherwise missed. "They were delivered yesterday. On the morning of the false alarm. That’s when we were locked in the cellar."

We all exchange looks as the implication sinks in. The thief never took the tiara off the property. It's still at Windfall Manor.

Along with the thief.

Percy slams his fist on my desk, the wood creaking under the impact. The ashy scent of dragon anger fills the small room.

"This means it’s an inside job," he growls, golden scales rippling across his forearms as his control slips. "Someone with trust."

Someone with trust. Someone with access. Someone no one would suspect.

The frozen image of Kraxon, prowling the hallways when he told my deputies he was supposed to be at a business meeting, flashes before my eyes. I lock gazes with Julia and see the same understanding in her eyes.

Still, I refrain from saying anything. I can’t go around accusing the groom’s brother. Not until I have concrete proof.

"Look at the timer," I say, pointing to a countdown clock in the corner of the screen. "Forty-eight hours until the auction closes."

Julia calculates aloud.

"That's during the rehearsal dinner." Her face pales. "The seller is planning to complete the transaction while everyone's distracted."

Seraphina's wings flutter with agitation, sending papers scattering from my desk.

"We need to recover it before then. If the tiara leaves the estate grounds, who knows if we’ll ever get it back."

I pace the small confines of my office, thinking through our options.

"We could set up a sting," Julia suggests suddenly. "Create a fake buyer profile, outbid everyone else, arrange to meet the seller."

A sting operation? The idea is good. It’s really, really good. Still, it’s not without risks. My instincts scream caution, but I know the logic is sound.

"It could work," I admit reluctantly.

"We'd need someone who knows enough about the tiara to be convincing," Seraphina points out. "If we communicate with the seller and don't sound legitimate, they'll bolt. It also can’t be me or Percy. Dragons are too easily recognizable."

Percy has a point. Dragons are hardly inconspicuous.

“So are wolves, I’m afraid,” Percy says, shaking her head. “If the seller is Other, he’ll smell you from a mile away. Your kind all smell like wet dog.”

“And your kind smells like a burn pit,” I retort to Percy.

"I can do it," Julia says, her voice quiet but firm.