Prodigy by Theft
Her name, as if she'd already won.
The door was unlocked.
Her bag was on the vanity. Leather, Italian, monogrammed. I unzipped it.
The idol was heavier than I expected.
It felt wrong in my hands—cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. The material was something between stone and bone, dark as a closed eye, and the shape of it was hard to look at directly. A face that was cat and fox and neither, twisted into an expression that might have been hunger. Two tusks, curved and yellowed, protruding from a mouth that seemed to move when I wasn't looking at it.
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