And he knew the pendant.
Mr. Wilson stepped forward, bending with more urgency than his age should have allowed. He picked it up carefully, almost reverently. His thumb brushed the back of the silver oval.
L.H.
Harrison Legacy.
His face changed.
Lenora saw it through the blur of tears: shock first, then recognition, then something like grief. He looked from the pendant to her face as if seeing not the woman on the floor, but the child who had been missing from the house for three decades.
“Miss,” he whispered, kneeling beside her. “Can you sit up?”
Lenora nodded, though she was not sure she could. He helped her carefully, one hand under her elbow, the other steadying her back. His touch was gentle in a room that had offered her none.
Darnell snapped, “Don’t help her. She’s leaving.”
Mr. Wilson did not look at him. He kept his eyes on Lenora.
