I went to see where it would go.

The Construction Yard. Fifty empty plots under the night. I walked out onto one and stood on the dirt where The Vitrine would rise, if it ever does.

I tried to see it. A slender tower of coloured glass, lit from inside, a shelf for every rare thing I've pulled out of the dark. Five hundred and ten of them now, riding in my pockets with nowhere to live.

A plot costs a million crystal. I have twenty-nine thousand.

I stood there a while longer than I meant to.

Then I walked back to the glow. I left a footprint on that lot. I know the way back.