The auction was a front. Everyone in the room knew it. Billionaires, diplomats, arms dealers, art thieves. The invitation-only event in Prague was supposedly selling artifacts from lost civilizations. What they were really selling was secrets.

Rhea Morgan walked in wearing a dress that cost more than her first car. Her hair was dyed, her accent French, her ID flawless. No one recognized the Interpol agent beneath the glitter.

Her earpiece crackled. “Target is on the move. Item 17. Top right display.”

Item 17 was a locket. Gold, dull from age. Inside? A microdrive holding terabytes of surveillance footage from a dozen governments. Enough to start or stop a war.

Rhea moved casually. Her backup was six minutes out. The buyer was already approaching. The seller was already armed.

And then someone tapped her shoulder and whispered in Russian: “You’re not the only one here for the locket.”