-IRIS-
I was sitting in the coffee shop, nursing my café latte as I watched the rain pour down outside.
The place was small and cozy, its light‑green walls contrasting with the grey hues of the storm. Wooden floors and white‑framed windows fogged at the corners from the warmth inside. A few potted plants brightened the room, scattered between small, rounded tables. Behind the counter, rows of pastries and sweets sat on display, each one looking way too good for a rainy day mood.
Tristan had turned down my idea of a treasure hunt in the library. He said the packhouse would be packed on a rainy Sunday, and he didn’t want anyone stumbling onto what we were doing. Margaret had kept this secret hidden for years for a reason. She’d been protecting something—or someone—and we had no clue what
