TO DENY A LUNA
The jeweler had only managed to locate a tiny piece, far too small for the ring unless it was altered.
When I arrived at the small shop tucked into a side alley of the mall, I pushed the door open and the bell jingled. Dion, the jeweler, was slouched over his laptop, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up with a sigh, removing them and setting them on the display case.
“Any luck, Dion?” I asked as I approached the counter.
He smirked. “Your son just had to choose Serendibite,” he said, shaking his head and running a hand through his gelled hair. His tattooed arms folded across his chest, giving him more the appearance of a biker than a jeweler.
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