Naomi squeezed her fingers.
“She should never have started.”
At home, Ivy changed into a loose cotton shirt and sat on the edge of her bed while Naomi made tea.
Her uniform was sealed in a clean bag, as the responding officer had advised, until arrangements could be made to document it as evidence.
The tear in the fabric was small.
The bloodstain was not.
Ivy had never been particularly attached to uniforms.
They were clothes she wore to work.
But seeing her own blood on the navy fabric made the evening impossible to dismiss as a misunderstanding.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Maya.
Ms. Ivy, I told the police exactly what happened. I didn’t let my supervisor tell me to leave anything out.
Ivy read it twice.
Then another message appeared.
They said I might not be assigned to Blackwood events anymore. I’m scared.
Ivy sat straighter.
She called the girl.
Maya answered immediately.
“Ms. Ivy?”
“Did someone threaten your job?”
“Not exactly. My supervisor said clients might complain and I should expect fewer high-profile shifts.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ivy smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Maya hesitated.
“Can they do that?”
“I don’t know what they’ll decide. But don’t resign because someone frightens you. Save the messages, and we’ll find out what your rights are.”
“Okay.”
“How’s your mother?”
