“Many years ago,” Nightingale said, “Someone very special to me gave me this. It was a sign… and offer. But he was taken from this world too soon, and I was… I believed I was responsible. To me, it became a promise. A promise to be better, to be something worth more than I was.” His fingers brushed the necklace tenderly. He took in every inch of it, drinking it in like sweet wine. “I want you to have it,” he said.
 
Silver gaped at the necklace. “W–I, I could never,” she said. “Something like that…”
 
“It is customary to give gifts at Hearth’s Warming, is it not?” Nightingale asked. He held out the necklace to Silver. “Please,” he said. “I am ready now. I have done what I promised. Or rather… I can. I will train you, Silver, under one condition.”
 
Silver took the necklace in her hands. It was warm to the touch, and seemed somehow fragile and unbreakable, all at once. “What is it?” she asked.
 
“You must not fight,” Nightingale said. “Not unless it becomes absolutely necessary; unless there is no other way out. If you can run, you must run. If begging will work, then beg. If you must fight to keep yourself, or another, from harm, then so be it, but fight only until you become able to run. Then, run. If you are ever in real trouble, the kind you can’t run from, find a building with that symbol on it, and tell them Jack of Clubs sent you. They will help. But no matter what, you must not fight.”