Phoebe descended the sleek, winding staircase, her steps echoing faintly in the quiet opulence of the Harkin family townhouse. As she passed the living room, the space seemed to demand her attention, even in its stillness. High ceilings soared above her, accentuating the grandeur of the room, while natural light spilled through large, arched windows, casting golden streaks across the polished hardwood floors. The furniture was curated with precision—velvet armchairs and a marble coffee table sat atop an intricately patterned rug, exuding a sense of understated luxury.
The Harkin family’s wealth was evident in every corner of the townhouse, yet its origins were steeped in layers of mystery. On the surface, her father, Cassian Harkin, was a shrewd and successful private equity firm owner, while her mother, Josephine Harkin, dazzled as a renowned socialite, known for organizing lavish charity galas and supporting the arts. But beneath this carefully curated image lay the true source of their fortune: a long-standing involvement in the clandestine trade of rare artifacts. Public charity work, with its glamour and good press, served as a calculated shield to deflect persistent whispers and rumors about their dealings.
As Phoebe stepped outside, the crisp morning air greeted her, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the house. Her boots clicked softly against the driveway as she approached her sister’s pastel pink Tesla Model 3, the sleek finish gleaming in the sunlight. Sliding into the front seat, she found Freya preoccupied with her compact mirror, carefully touching up her mascara.
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“You got everything?” Freya asked, her tone distracted as she inspected her reflection.
“Yeah,” Phoebe replied, buckling her seatbelt with a faint click.
Freya snapped the mirror shut with a satisfied sigh and glanced at Phoebe. “We’re picking up Dahlia first, then Airam,” she said, adjusting the rear view mirror before starting the car.
Phoebe turned to her sister, curiosity flickering across her face. “What’s Airam like? I’ve seen her around, but we’ve never really talked.”
Freya chuckled softly, her hands light on the wheel as the car purred to life. “Airam’s... sweet, but distant. She always seems like she’s got one foot in another world—like she’s lost in her own thoughts.”
Phoebe tilted her head, intrigued but unimpressed. “Sounds a little mysterious,” she remarked, leaning back against the seat.
Freya cast her sister a sly glance, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “You're not the only one who thinks so. Jericho seems very interested in her.”
Phoebe raised an eyebrow, the name catching her attention. “Jericho? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Freya confirmed, the smirk deepening. “You know how he is with people who keep him guessing.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small grin. “Great. Another puzzle for him to solve.”
Freya laughed softly as she eased the car out of the driveway, the quiet hum of the Tesla blending into the morning stillness.