The kitchen was quiet that evening, softer than usual after the heavy tension that had settled over the packhouse all day. I worked in the far corner, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, my mind still echoing with every word I had overheard in Kael’s study.
Kill her before it’s too late.
The phrase repeated itself like a curse. Even the sound of the boiling pots could not drown it out. I scrubbed the same copper pan again and again, the warm water reddening my hands. The steady rhythm usually calmed me. Tonight it only reminded me how small I was in a place that would never belong to me.
The door to the kitchen opened, and a gust of cold evening air crept in. A tall, thin man stepped through, leaning on a carved wooden stick. His steps were careful, and his eyes looked strange—clou
