Dave
Morgana entered the training grounds, and Sebastian left, muttering something about a few errands to run before joining the others.
I couldn’t blame him. If I saw a woman in mourning black, carrying a blood-red box toward me across a misty training field, I’d want to make myself scarce, too.
“I’ll make sure everything is going as planned,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze as he greeted her.
“Morgana, I don’t have time for this,” I said as she got closer.
She walked past me, placed the box on the ground, and turned. The veil she wore made it hard to see her face and read her expression, but there was something about her tone that made my blood run cold as she spoke.
“Red is my family’s color. We have different heirlooms passed down throughout the generations, and I want you to have
