Violet held up a brocade dress, a deep enough green she could’ve melted emeralds in it. Embroidered wolf heads glinted on each sleeve.

“It’s stunning,” Violet said. “Why do you have this?”

Vesper handed her a silver skull mask like his own, failing to meet her eyes. “Someone else was supposed to attend with me. She couldn’t make it.”

“What happened to her?”

“Taken from me by the war.”

“I’m so sorry.” Violet tried to hand the dress ...