Caswell’s color deepened.
Cosima held my arm up. Anyone with eyes could see the difference: the faint bright band inside the sleeve, too smooth, too new, waiting exactly where my Mark would rest.
No one could deny it.
Cosima’s pen touched the page.
“Post-storage alteration observed at left wrist,” she said.
Behind me, Rev cleared her throat.
“I found the brooch,” she announced.
I had to press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keepfrom smiling.
Rev set it on the tray beside the pins.
The woman at the basin touched the water.
It brightened.
Everyone stopped.
Words formed across the surface.
Proceed with full garment preparation.
The order held in the water, silver and calm.
Cosima stared at Caswell.
“You know exactly what this is,” she accused.
Everyone in the room held their breath, including me.
Caswell’s voice took a warning tone. “Verraine.”
“This is not preservation. It is a restraint.”
The taller fitting woman took one careful step back from me.
Cosima’s pen stayed in her hand, but she was no longer writing.
“You altered Selene Verita’s dress to quiet her daughter’s Mark, and you put it in a room full of witnesses hoping no one would notice.”
Caswell’s color had gone flat and ugly.
“You are very close to refusing a Council instruction, Verraine.”
“No,” Cosima said. “I am following the protocols everyone here respects so much.”
The taller fitting woman reached for the sleeve again.
My Mark moved.
Pain snapped through my wrist.
The woman hissed and jerked her hand back.
