Evelyn's POV:
I found Ethan by the coat check, my nerves frayed from the corridor.
"Ready to go?" Ethan asked, noticing the rigidity in my posture.
"Almost," I said, exhaling slowly. "Give me five minutes. The curator mentioned there were early pieces consigned from private Hudson Valley estates in the north salon. I just want to look once."
The north salon was quiet, dimly lit to protect the textiles and fragile woodwork. Most of the gala guests were congregating near the band, leaving the glass display cases undisturbed.
I moved slowly along the vitrines, scanning the catalog cards. Near the center table, beneath a focused spotlight, I stopped dead.
A pendant.
It was carved from aged black walnut, circular, polished smooth by decades of skin and fabric, framed in a thin, unhallma
