The man looked from the necklace to Lancet, recovering his bluster. "If there is a problem with your purchase, speak directly to collection services."
"There is." Lancet tapped the thick glass. "It's fake."
The bidding master's expression barely moved. He maintained this perfect poker face that showed that he was very used to confrontations like this.
Spectra took a step forward. "Speak!"
The man's hand immediately moved toward a red button beside his desk. "Guards—"
A thick, black tendril of Gloom snapped violently around his mouth before he could finish the word. His eyes widened in absolute terror.
Another strand wrapped brutally around his wrist and tore his hand away from the alarm crystal, pinning it to the desk. A third tendril hardened instantly into a narrow, wickedly sharp blade directly beneath his throat.
