“Okay. Wow,” Ezra says slowly. “Mordechai’s ring”

“It’s like the weight of history is sitting in your hand,” Ezra says, glancing over at Gabe’s palm.

Gabe turns the ring over, examining the thick flat top of the signet and the ornate patterns of the ring. He’s had this artifact memorized since he was a kid, knows every last millimeter of it. There had been that time when he’d theorized that it was hiding in plain sight, in another museum display.

It had been hiding in plain sight, on the not-Cohen Shabbos table every week.

“The strongest proof that this isn’t a copy is that it hasn’t corroded after all these years. No one’s been taking care of it or cleaning it. It’s pure gold.” He leans back against the passenger seat. “But Stefan will confirm it. He’s one of the best in the business.”

Ezra frowns as he inches forward then stops, caught in a gridlock. The train would have been faster at this point, but neither of them had wanted to ride the train to the city with a potentially priceless artifact in hand.

Gabe is still looking over his shoulder instinctively, searching for a dark sedan tailing them. Someone knows about his father’s secrets, and they won’t give up after one useless police report. “And you trust this Stefan?”

“I don’t know him personally.” Connor, his friend in the city, had recommended Stefan, and had given Stefan a heads-up that they’d be coming with a delicate situation. “But he’s a curator at the American Museum of Natural History. Used to work as an archaeological technician at the Israel Museum. If there’s anyone who can successfully ID the ring, it’ll be him.”

“Okay. Wow,” Ezra says slowly. “Mordechai’s ring.”

“Allegedly,” Gabe corrects automatically, but it’s hard not to feel something in the cool metal, an unbroken connection to their ancient past. This is bigger than Gabe or Abba or even this time period. This is history, cradled in his hand.