Eve held his gaze. The pendant was warm. The photograph was pressed against her ribs. Both parents here with her in this room.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
Malachai nodded. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out. Set it on the table between them.
A photograph.
Old. Faded at the edges. The kind of photograph that had been carried in a pocket for decades.
Eve leaned forward.
The photograph showed two people standing outside the Conclave building. The man was tall with dark hair and sharp features and a smile that took over his entire face. The woman beside him was shorter with long dark hair and those eyes....Eve's eyes....and she was mid-laugh, her head tilted back, her hand on the man's arm.
They looked happy.
They looked young.
They looked like people who had no idea what was coming.
