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Tone followed my gaze.

“Especially then. We don’t purchase our safety at the expense of a woman who needs protection.”

My hand returned to the rosary.

This time, I drew it from beneath my blouse.

The silver beads had warmed against my skin. The small medallion rested in my palm, catching the muted daylight from the window.

“My father gave me this when I was sixteen.”

Tone looked at the rosary but made no attempt to touch it.

“He told me to keep it close because there might come a day when I needed it. I thought he meant for comfort or prayer.”

“What made you think otherwise?”

“I lost it.”

The confession scraped against something raw inside me.

“I used to take it off before I showered. One morning, I forgot to put it back on, and when I finally noticed it was missing, I assumed it would turn up somewhere in the house. I didn’t look very hard.”

I ran my thumb over the polished medallion.

“I think part of me believed I had outgrown it.”

“What changed?”

“A few nights before he died, my father came into my room after midnight.”

My father’s face rose before me, hollowed by exhaustion and sharpened by fear.

“He had found the rosary. He placed it around my neck himself and told me never to take it off again.”

Tone’s attention sharpened.

“He told me it was the key.”

“To what?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Until he became angry.”

I could still hear myself accusing him of frightening me for no reason. My father had shouted that fear was the only thing keeping me alive. Then his anger had collapsed. He had apologized, kissed my forehead and held me so tightly that I could barely breathe.

Then he was dead.

“He made me promise that if anyone came looking for the rosary, I would run.”

Tone glanced toward the door.

“Does Demitri know any of this?”

“No.”