“You will,” he said. “The shop on Fifth Avenue is being cleared tonight. It will be rebuilt to your exact specifications.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet case, placing it in my hand.

“A deposit,” he said. “For your exclusive services.”

I opened the case.

Inside was a pair of heavy, solid-brass tailor’s shears, their blades polished to a mirror finish.

They were exactly like the ones my father had given me, but heavier, balanced perfectly for my hand.

“Thank you, Aries,” I said, my throat tightening.

“We will begin on Monday,” he said.

He reached for the car door handle, but before he could open it, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, the screen lighting up his face in the darkness.

He stared at the display, his brow furrowing as a message appeared on the screen.

I looked over his arm, my eyes catching the red text of the notification.

The sender was unknown, but the message was a single line of text:

*The ledger has a second page, Aries. Ask the tailor what she did with the rest of the thread.*