“I’m not a child. I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“No,” he said flatly. “You can’t. Not against this.”
Her chin rose. “I saved you at Lammer Cove.”
That stopped him. For a heartbeat, something like shame crossed his face. He hadn’t known.
“You said you were shielding me,” she said, her voice trembling with restraint. “But I was already in it, Gabriel. I chose to be. I climbed that cliff with you. I risked just as much.”
He said nothing.
“And yet you still kept the brooch,” he said finally, almost accusing. “What else are you hiding, Leticia? Are you sure you aren’t in deeper than you admit?”
She stared at him. Her hand curled into a fist at her side. “If you truly believe that, if you actually think I could be part of something so dark, then you don’t know me at all.”
The wind shifted. Leaves rattled like applause for a performance long finished.
“You should never have come here,” she said.
She turned and walked toward the house, unhurried, though her chest felt hollow. Behind her, she heard the quiet crunch of gravel as he turned and walked away.
Neither of them looked back.
*
Leticia stepped insideand stopped short. Her aunt stood at the hearth, her arms crossed. The fire burned low, but her expression radiated heat.
“You heard,” Leticia said.
“I did.” Her aunt’s voice was as flat as the embers.
“I’m sorry.”
Her aunt didn’t blink. “What brooch?”
Leticia looked down. “My mother’s.”
“The one with the raven.”
Leticia’s head jerked up. “You know it?”
“I begged her to get rid of it years ago. She wouldn’t listen.” Her hand braced against the mantel, fingers whitening on the carved edge. “I never,” Her voice broke. “I never thought she’d give it to you. That cursed thing has haunted us for decades.”
Leticia swayed. “I didn’t know. To me, it was a keepsake. Something from Vienna. A kindness.” Her voice dropped. “She told me never to speak of it. Not to you. Not to anyone. I didn’t know she was leaving me with a burden.”
Her aunt’s eyes softened. “She didn’t know what it was,” she said quietly. “She gave you what she thought was hers to give. Love, and something beautiful to remember her by. She couldn’t have known the cost.”
Leticia dropped onto the settee. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Her aunt’s voice was quiet now. “Because we were afraid it would matter again.”
“And now it does.”
Her aunt nodded once. “Now it does.”
Leticia bent forward, elbows on her knees. Her hands shook. “I…I could fix it. I…I could hold it long enough to learn its secrets, and then…”
Her voice trailed off. The sob came suddenly and without warning, rising before she could stop it.
