The wind was chilly, brushing over the gentle slopes of the quiet countryside as Acantha stood at the edge of the small porch, her hand hovering just inches from the door. The house before her was quaint, too peaceful for what she'd come to say. Every part of her wanted to turn back, to disappear into the night like the predator she was trained to be—but Alaric's words echoed in her head. There wasn't time.
With a sharp breath, she knocked.
The door creaked open within seconds, revealing a woman with a cautious gaze and tired, weathered hands. Cathy. She looked the kind of tired only mothers and survivors knew. Her eyes narrowed the moment they landed on Acantha.
"Yes?" Cathy asked. Her hand remained tight on the edge of the door, keeping it mostly closed. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"I'm not here to cause trouble," Acantha said quickly, lowering her gaze. "I need to speak to Adrianna. It's urgent."
