CHAPTER 58

Caleb and I stood beside the river, staring into each other’s eyes.

I trembled as I worried if he were about to say goodbye.

But then something caught his eye, and his line of vision suddenly shifted. He looked at her neckline, and seemed transfixed.

He reached out, and I felt his fingers brush my throat. I felt metal. My necklace. I had forgotten I was wearing it.

He lifted it and stared.

“What is this?” he asked softly.

I reached up and put my hand over his. It was my cross, my small, silver cross.

“Just an old cross,” I answered.

But before I’d finished saying the words, I realized: it was old. It had been in my family for generations. I hadn’t remembered who gave it to me, or when, but I knew it was ancient. And that it had belonged to my father’s side. Yes. It was something. Maybe even a clue.

He stared intently, examining it.

“This is no normal cross,” he said. “Its edges are curved. I haven’t seen one like this for a thousand years. It is the cross of Saint Peter,” he