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“Why did you keep it from him?”

“Because I didn’t know what it meant.”

“And now?”

I stared at the medallion resting against my palm.

“Now I think my father died because of whatever this holds.”

Tone’s expression softened, but her voice didn’t.

“Your father died because other men chose to kill him.”

“If he stole something from them⁠—”

“That might explain why they wanted him dead. It doesn’t make his murder his fault.”

I lowered my head.

“I was afraid Demitri would take it from me.”

Tone waited without judging the admission.

“He would never hurt me,” I admitted. “I know that. But if he believed this could end the threat, he might decide I was safer without it.”

“And you were not ready to surrender it.”

“It’s the last thing my father gave me.” The rosary blurred in my hand. “It’s the last thing I have that he touched.”

Understanding moved across Tone’s face, quiet and painful.

“I know what it is to protect the final piece of someone you’ve lost.”

I believed her because she didn’t try to tell me that letting go would hurt less.

My fingers curled around the beads.

“What happens if I give it to you?”

“We find out what your father died protecting.”

Tone extended her hand. She didn’t reach for the rosary or ask me again. She simply opened her palm and allowed the choice to be mine.

My father’s warning tightened my fingers around the beads.

Do not let anyone take it.

Tone was not taking it. I was choosing to give it to her. The difference felt thin, but it was enough.

I placed the rosary in her palm. The absence struck immediately. My hand felt too light, as though I had surrendered something far greater than silver beads and a medallion.

Tone closed her fingers around it.

“It will be well protected, you have my word.”

“Please don’t let them destroy it.”

“I promise.”