They were annoying, sharp little things, so rather than throw them away, she'd decided to put them to good use. Casual, careless, perfectly placed.
The bones were the key, though. They splinter easily, crack loudly when stepped on. If anyone was trying to sneak around, they'd either get pricked, cut, or make a noise. Maybe even all three. It wasn't about catching them—it was about making sure she knew they were there.
And it seemed like someone had been there.
The signs were faint, but clear enough for someone like her: a broken thorn, a smeared heel print, and a streak of red on a fish bone. A wince-inducing gift from her makeshift welcome mat.
Kaya crouched down and brushed her fingers over the track. The thorns weren't scattered randomly—only around the hidden spots where someone could spy without being seen. So if someone was standing there, it wasn't just for fun.
It was to watch her.
"Gotcha," she whispered under her breath, eyes glinting.
.
.
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