ZURI

Serena returned promptly with something clutched tight in her hands. Then she set a small velvet pouch on my cot.

“It’s hers,” she whispered. “Something Fiona always keeps close.”

I took it, ignoring the ache in my back where the lashes still burned. The thread of Fiona’s essence thrumming against my fingers when I opened it. A jeweled comb, still slick with the scent of her hair. My pulse quickened.

“Zuri,” Leona warned, stepping forward. “You ...