In the top drawer of his dresser, Ayl kept a box of trinkets. Not a whit of it was worth stealing; not the coin from a foreign land nor the plated broach of his mother's.

Not the handkerchief from his sister nor the glass charm from his brother.

And certainly not the crushed velvet bow, torn from the crimson dress of a three-day childhood crush in exchange for a button from his jacket.

Silently, the thief touched the button on the chain around her neck.

Everything went back in the box as it had been.

Perhaps she'd visit in the morning.