“The brooch is not listed for this fitting.”
“It belongs with the dress.”
“The fitting first,” the taller woman said.
“No.” I looked down at the green silk. “No, I need the brooch.”
My voice broke on the last word, just enough to sound convincing.
Rev shifted behind me, and Cosima looked at me from under her lashes.
“I had it,” I said, panic rising in my voice. “I know I brought it with me.”
Caswell clenched his teeth and stared at me. “Verita, I am sure you left it in your room.”
“It was here. I know it was.”
I let tears fill my eyes. It wasn’t hard. I’d been fighting back tears for days.
The room had to pause then, because grief was one of the few things Zenith Hall still pretended to respect.
Cosima came to the platform.
“Stand still,” she said.
It was almost gentle.
That made it worse.
She turned me by the elbow, as if checking whether the brooch had slipped into the dress or caught in the lining. Her hand moved over the shoulder, the collar, the left sleeve.
Then she stopped.
“What is this?”
Caswell went red along the cheekbones.
“Verraine.”
Cosima ignored him. Her fingers hovered just above the sleeve.
“This is not the original fabric.”
The taller fitting woman’s hand closed around the silk.
Rev leaned in closer.
Caswell stepped toward the platform. “You were asked to attend as documentation, not to interfere.”
“I am documenting.” Cosima opened her notebook with one hand. “The left sleeve contains material inconsistent with the preserved garment.”
“It is reinforcement.”
“Then it should have been listed.”
“It was approved.”
“Then that should have been listed too.”
