The messenger was young, barely twenty, with shaking fingers and a bruised jaw. He looked like he'd just crawled out of a brawl,and lost. He didn't speak. He just held out a long, black box wrapped in velvet rope, eyes wide with something close to terror.
"What's this?" I asked.
His throat bobbed. "They said to give it to you, Miss Eira."
"They?"
He didn't answer. Just thrust the box into my arms and bolted down the hall like the shadows were chasing him.
I closed the door, locked it, then placed the box on the floor and stared at it.
It looked expensive. The velvet was stitched with a sigil,one I recognized immediately.
The Vescari family crest.
Rival clan. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Masters of theatrics.
My heart thudded once, hard.
There was something terrifyingly deliberate about the way the box sat there. Like it breathed. Like it watched.
