"For such a newbie, you're quite bold."
Freya’s breath hitched as a vice-like grip clamped around her wrist, yanking her off balance. Before she could react, her back slammed against the cold, unyielding wall, the impact sending a sharp jolt through her spine. The scent of Bianca Dulce’s overpowering perfume—cloying and floral—filled her nostrils, mingling with the faint metallic tang of her own surprise.
For a split second, disorientation clouded Freya’s mind. Then her vision sharpened, locking onto the furious woman pinning her in place.
Bianca’s lips curled into a snarl, her manicured nails digging into Freya’s arm like talons. Behind her, two figures lurked in the periphery, guarding her back.
Freya exhaled slowly, forcing her pulse to steady. "What now, Miss Dulce?" Her voice
