Lara
Wendy.
That was her name—the woman I’d been trailing for the past two minutes. The woman who had found me crouched on the cold, unforgiving floor of this narrow passage. The woman who happened to be the Luna’s right hand.
The Luna.
My mother.
My hair prickled at the thought of her, every nerve flaring in warning. My mother was unlike any other mother in this world—or at least, unlike what a mother should be.
“You have wasted the Luna’s time with your dilly-dallying,” Wendy’s voice sliced through my drifting thoughts, smooth but edged in steel. “So do not be shocked by her foul mood.”
She had stopped walking. I hadn’t noticed until then that my own legs had slowed to a halt. The hallway seemed to hold its breath. Wendy stood with a door open, gesturing for me to step inside.
**
