Amelia
The box was velvet. Small, discreet, and so light in my palm it almost didn’t feel real. Richard handed it to me in the shadowed corner of the campaign floor, late enough that most of the staff had gone home and early enough that I hadn’t yet remembered how tired I was. He didn’t say anything when he passed it over. Just met my eyes with that impossible-to-read expression he wore when he was feeling too much to show any of it.
I opened the box slowly. Nestled inside was a silver crescent-shaped pendant on a fine chain. I stared at it for a moment, confused, until I saw the curve—the way it was shaped to sit along the dip of my throat, the way it would draw the eye to one specific spot.
“Won’t cover it completely,” he said quietly, “but it’ll draw attention just enough.”
I swallo
