“Here,” a soft voice said.

I turned.

Maura — Lennox’s mother — had stepped up behind me.

She did not offer platitudes or tell me it would be fine.

She reached behind her own neck, unclasped a heavy string of luminous heirloom pearls, and draped them around my throat, the cool stones against my collarbone.

“My grandmother wore these,” she whispered, her eyes fierce.