His breath hitched. “Miss Highsmith,” he said urgently. “It’s Thomas—Thomas Lightwood. Who did this to you?” She tightened her grip on his lapels, pulling him closer with surprising strength. “He did,” she whispered. “But he was dead, dead in his prime. His wife… she wept and wept. I remember her tears.” Her eyes fixed on Thomas’s. “Perhaps there is no forgiveness.”
