Kent
I watched the girl from the balcony of Venom, where the shadows were thickest.
Grace was sitting at a corner table in the main room, her back pressed firmly against the solid oak wall. She had been here for a week now and she still chose the seat that gave her the best view of every exit. It was a habit born of a hard life, one I recognized because I had spent a century doing the same thing. She was picking at a plate of food, her movements careful and restricted, likely because of the wound on her arm that she refused to let Mara look at.
She was a strange addition to my town. Most humans who I let into Velmore either spiraled into hysterics or tried to bargain their way out within the first hour when they realised what they were getting into, Grace did neither. But Grace was not
