The collection storage room of the Livingston Museum of Archaeology maintained the optimal temperature and relative humidity to stabilize the deterioration of the artifacts stored on its shelf-lined walls. Filters and vigilance reduced exposure to light, pollution, and pests. At a long stainless-steel table in the center of the twelve-by-twenty-foot space allocated to the European collection, Louisa examined the Iron Age Celtic short sword with gloved hands. With a sixteen-inch blade, the two-thousand-year-old weapon had been light and deadly in the close-quarters combat the Celts had favored. She returned the ancient piece to its open acid-free box. Moving to a second container, Louisa unpacked the newly arrived reproduction and held it next to the original, the length of shiny steel a sharp contrast to the artifact’s heavily corroded blade.

It was perfect.

Displayed side by side in the glass case beneath the battle mural, the juxtaposition of old and new swords would help museum visitors envision Celtic warriors charging into combat with the Romans. In the far corner of the room, life-size figures frozen in battle would reenact the deadly clash in 3-D. If Louisa closed her eyes and pictured the exhibit room as it would look in a few weeks when the new renovations were complete, she could hear the sounds of screaming men and the thunk of heavy blades on metal shields, smell unwashed bodies and sweat over the coppery scent of fresh blood.

She was hopeless, stuck in the past, living in her imagination. Even as a child, she’d had more books than friends, especially after her mother died.

No. She wasn’t going to be that person anymore. She’d left her old life behind.

No more hiding in history to avoid the present. Being fired from her last position was a stain on her résumé—even though she’d recovered the artifacts that were stolen under her watch—but like a cat free-falling from a high-rise, she’d landed relatively unscathed. Yes, in order to get a job, she’d had to take the blow to her ego and accept a demotion to assistant curator. In Maine, she’d curated an entire small museum. But she was grateful to work in the field she loved again, and that she’d been forced to leave the painful family entanglements of her hometown. Being away from home gave her an exhilarating sense of freedom that compensated for her lower salary. It was a good thing her trust fund enabled her to do as she pleased.

Regardless of the drawbacks, Philadelphia was still her fresh start. Nothing was perfect.

Someone knocked on the door behind her. She set the knife down, crossed five feet of gray speckled linoleum, and opened the door for the department administrative assistant. April followed her back to the table. “Oh, the reproduction is lovely.”

“It is.” Louisa leaned back and studied the gleaming new weapon. “I hope it’s as effective in wowing visitors as it is beautiful.”