The car stopped in front of a jewelry shop.
No.
Dean corrected himself while looking through the tinted window.
Not a shop.
A jewelry atelier, apparently, because normal shops had windows with displays, price tags, and human expectations. This place had expensive marble, dark wood paneling, and pale stone imported from some remote part of the continent only to prove that the owner could afford to make walls insulting.
There was no jewelry in the windows.
Which meant, to Dean, who had been raised in both worlds as the son of a grand duke but had still attended public schools long enough to understand normal people, that one needed a certain kind of money just to be on this street.
The car door was opened by one of the security detail while the others secured the perimeter immediately.
Dean looked at the building.
Then at Arion.
