The Pawn Shop

The pawn shop reeked of rust, dust, and stale smoke. Broken electronics and tarnished trinkets cluttered the counters. Behind it all, a wiry man with darting eyes sized Jack up. Jack placed the tracker on the counter. “Ever seen one of these?” he asked. The man’s expression barely shifted, but Jack caught a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “No idea,” he said too quickly. Jack walked out, suspicion burning. He was on the right trail.
                Page 37 of 71
                
            
								
																	
															
			

