The relentless pounding in my head was like war drums echoing through my skull, a familiar and brutal sensation. This was worse than any hangover—a painful reminder that the wolfsbane was still working its way out of my system, painfully and slowly. Each dry, shallow breath only amplified the aching regret gnawing at me. I should have known better than to let my guard down, even with children. But there was no point in cursing the past now. I had to face the consequences of my foolish trust.
As my senses gradually returned, the details of my predicament became clearer. I lay sprawled on a few rough wooden boards in the back of a moving wagon, gagged with a coarse cloth. My wrists and ankles were bound tightly with rope. Every bump and jolt reminded me that we were moving, the creak of the
