Zara's POV
Half an hour later, I push open the heavy oak door of the café.
The café is filled with aristocratic werewolves, lounging and conversing, but a quick scan of the room tells me Ashley is not among them.
My heart sinks, then seizes with a sudden tightness. What is Ashley plotting?
Surely, she wouldn't set a trap for me here. This is neutral territory, after all, teeming with wolves coming and going.
Then, my eyes lock onto a persistent stare—Sophia, seated by the window.
She is adorned in an expensive dress, her makeup flawless. She sips her coffee, a mocking glint in her eyes as she watches me, as if I am a fool walking willingly into a snare.
Suppressing the urge to turn and flee, I plant myself before her, looking down at her imperiously. "Where is your mother?"
Sophia
