Violet's face twitched. She made a futile grab for the phone.
The girl zoomed in obediently. Her eyes went wide. "There's an M," she blurted. "Tiny, but it's there!"
A ripple went through the crowd.
"That's the designer's signature, right? The M?" someone whispered, loud enough to be not-whispering.
"It says M. Bloody hell, it really is Mirabelle's design!"
Violet's face went from ghost-pale to lobster-red in two seconds flat. She snatched her phone back and mashed the power button like she was trying to murder it.
Too late. The whispers were already turning into open laughter. The kind that bites.
"If you're going to steal," I said sweetly, "at least do it properly."
I took two slow steps forward, stopping just short of her personal space, and gave her necklace a
