My eyes drift from the address on my phone to the sign on the store that reads, "Friendly Scales." Fish swim about in a sea of rainbow colors in the store's windows, which frame the glass door entrance.

This is the place. Yesterday, Tabitha sent me a text telling me to go to the Friendly Scales aquatic pet store to purchase an angelfish that just arrived this morning. Apparently, each fish has its own serial number, and there's a specific one I must purchase. It seems strange that she needs that exact fish, but I'm just happy that I'm not being asked to break into anything.

The car fiasco is not a situation I want to be in again.

A bell jangles overhead as I enter the store. I peer around at the brightly colored fish swarming around the tanks. I almost feel bad for them, then remember that this is a better fate than being grilled for dinner.

A man stands behind the desk, bouncing on his heels as he looks around an almost empty store. His face brightens when I approach the counter.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?"

It's strange to have someone who looks about the same age as me address me as "ma'am," but I try not to call attention to it.

"Yes, I'm looking for a fish."

"What type of fish?"

"An angelfish. It should've just arrived this morning." I swallow, then say, "serial number 94576930."

The man's eyebrows knit together, though he doesn't lose his grin. "Man, people 'round here really know their serial numbers."

I roll my eyes. "It's for a friend. She's like, kind of obsessed with fish. Works in an aquarium."

"Oh." The man's face grows somber. "I don't think these fish can be displayed in an aquarium. It's a company policy."

"Don't worry." I force a laugh. "It's for her home aquarium, not work."

"Sure thing. Let me check on that number." The man saunters into the employer room tucked behind the store. He returns a moment later, flipping through pages. "I'm sorry, did you say 94577930?"

I look down at my phone. "94576930."

A crease forms on the man's brow. "I'm sorry, someone actually called yesterday and placed a hold on the fish."

My jaw gapes. "What?"

"I know. In all the time I've worked here, that's never happened."

"Did the person list a name?"

"Uh... yes."

A beat passes. "What is it?"

"I'm not supposed to give out info 'bout other customers."

Darn it. Tabitha will not be pleased. There has to be a way to get a hold of the fish.

I lean on the counter, painting my sweetest expression. "Look, it's my friend's birthday, and I really want to give her this fish."

"I thought she picked it out."

"She did. It's a tradition: she picks the present, and I buy it for her."

"Okay," the clerk chuckles.

"The point is that I don't want to let her down. She's turning twenty-five... and she's getting a promotion, too. I want this to be special for her."

"And a fish will make it special?"

"The point is that you can name your price. I'll pay anything." My hand falls on my green shoulder bag. Good thing I brought an extra supply of cash with me.

The man cringes. "I'm... I'm not supposed to do this."

"How much is the other many paying?"

"Fifty dollars. An extra twenty since he placed a hold on it."

"I'll pay five-hundred." The clerk's jaw drops. "And I'll pay you a bonus one-hundred for your trouble."

The clerk chuckles. "I-Is that a bribe?"

I shrug. "Not really. You could just accidentally switch the fish that I buy and the other customer buys."

The man's dark brown eyes dart around the room, then he leans over and whispers, "are you for real?"

Unzipping my purse, I place six-hundred dollars on the counter. The clerk shovels them into the cash register.

"I'll get your fish now."

As the clerk walks to the tank, apprehension prickles on my skin. There's no way to know if he gives me the right fish, even if the mix-up is accidental.

The bell jingles behind me. I whirl around, coming face-to-face with the man from the opera. He's traded his tuxedo for a blue t-shirt and black jeans. He smiles and nods at me.

The wheels in my head turn. First, I see him at the opera with the same circular earbuds as me. Now, he shows up here, at the same store Tabitha sent me to. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but at this point, I'm losing my faith in coincidences by the day.

"Here's your fish," the clerk says, handing me a fish tank.

The man from the opera eyes the angelfish swimming around the tank. His gaze shifts to me next, scrutinizing my face. I gulp, backing away from the counter.

"How may I help you?" the clerk asks.

"I placed a hold on a fish yesterday," the man from the opera says. Slowly, his gaze shifts to the clerk. My skin prickles from his gaze, and I suppress the shiver crawling down my spine. "I'd like to pick it up now."

"Sure." For a fleeting moment, the clerk's eyes meet mine. Then he proceeds with the transaction. I head for the door, trying not to run from the shop.

I can barely breathe until I round the street corner. I send a quick text to Saige, telling her I'm ready to be picked up. Since I no longer have a car, she promised to stay in the area and drive me home afterward. She seems less worried about my job since I'm only picking up a fish from the store for my next errand. I might've left out the part about the hyper-specific serial number, though.

The smell of spices wafts over from the Latin American restaurant I stand by. I watch the people eating outside under yellow and orange umbrellas, wishing I could try all the delicious dishes. Every so often, I glance over my shoulder, at the street corner. I can't shake the nagging anxiety that the man from the opera will realize that a swap was made and will hunt me down.

That's ridiculous. He probably can't even tell. This fish is like every other fish out there, right?

I look down at the giant fish tank cradled in my arms. The angelfish looks normal, yellow with blue stripes, delicate gills that sweep from side to side. Then again, the previous piece of wood was ordinary enough sitting on display. What made it unique was the electric pulse it sent through my skin upon touching it.

I eye the fish tank. The angelfish swims about the water, its bulbous eyes flicking around almost nervously. It probably isn't good to touch a fish. But it's the only way to test my hypothesis. I lower the tank to the ground with a slight clink of the glass on concrete. My fingers pry the top off. Water sloshes up the sides like a pendulum while the angelfish swims close to the pebbles coating the bottom.

My hand lowers to the water's surface, one inch at a time, closer and closer...

Electricity zaps my hand. I pull back, scattering a single droplet over the tank's side. What on earth?

I've never owned a fish before so I can't be one-hundred percent certain, but I have a feeling that's not supposed to happen. I shove the lid back into place and clutch the tank in my arms. My head begins to ache, unable to process what's going on. Why do these objects pulse with energy? Why does Tabitha want them? Who are these other people looking for them? Why are they so dead set on finding the objects?

Questions keep bubbling up in my mind. I try to tamp them down because deep down, I can guess at the answers to them.

There's something special about these objects, and whatever their purpose is, it must be pretty important, even dangerous, if so many people are after them.

And I'm the one caught in the middle.

Two final questions run through my head, ones that sends shivers down my spine.

How long will it take for the man to realize that the fishes have been switched?

What lengths would he go to in order to get it back?

Anxiety pulses through me, more potent than the electric water. My foot taps on the ground while my eyes dart all around. Never have I related so much to a scared, caged fish. The man from the opera is nowhere in sight, but it's only a matter of time before he starts searching for the person that stole the fish out from under his nose.

I have to get rid of this tank. Let Tabitha be the target, not me.

Finally, Saige's car pulls up alongside the street. I race to the car, trying to paint a smile across my lips. Upon glancing at the time on the dashboard, I realize I was only waiting for five minutes.

Saige eyes me as I slip into the passenger seat. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Totally fine."

"You sound like you just ran a marathon."

"Nope, just this tank is heavy." My fingers grapple for the seatbelt, and while I secure it, I glance over my shoulder at the street. The man from the opera rounds the corner, speaking on the phone with one hand while carrying the fish tank in the other. I shrink down in my seat.

"Where to now?" Saige asks.

"I should drop this off at Tabitha's apartment," I say.

The man strolls past. I hold my breath, turning my face down so he doesn't see me. In my peripheral, I watch him pass the restaurant, then round the corner.

Saige shakes her head. "What on earth?"

"Sorry. I thought I recognized him."

"Would that really be so bad?"

I exhale, taking my time to respond. "I just need to drop the fish off."

"Fine." Saige puts the car into gear, jolting the car backward. "But seriously, I think it's time to reevaluate this job you have."

Believe me, I already am.