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Neither of us speaks.

Something sharp begins to press behind my ribs.

“Gift?” I ask.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“For whom?”

Cain taps his fingers against the desk. “For you, I suppose.”

I force my gaze away from the box and back to Cain. “What is this?”

I try not to stare at it.

I fail.

In fact, I scrutinize it. There’s a slightly darker fleck on one corner. Another along the edge. At first, the low light makes it look like damage in the velvet.

But it’s not.

It’s a stain. Dark red.

Blood.

“What’s in the box?” I ask.

“Open it and see.”

I move.

Fast.

Too fast.

The second I reach for the jewelry box, two men step from behind the side wall near the bookshelves.

I didn’t hear them.

I should have heard them.

The first catches my right arm. The second locks an arm around my chest and shoulder, wrenching me back before my fingers reach the latch.

I twist, driving my elbow into one man’s ribs.

He grunts but doesn’t release me.

Cain prepared for this.

“Let go,” I snarl.

Cain stands slowly. “No.”

I lunge again.

The man behind me tightens his hold, forcing my arm back until pain shoots through my shoulder. I could break free if I had space. If there weren’t two of them. If I weren’t exhausted from digging a grave.

Cain lifts the jewelry box. It looks small in his hands. Too small to contain the amount of terror now ripping through me.