Katrina’s POV
My appetite had been dull for weeks, but I forced spoonfuls of soup past my lips, if only to avoid Damon’s sharp gaze. He sat at the far end of the table, silent, his knuckles tapping the armrest like a clock counting down to something I couldn’t yet see.
When the maid stepped closer, I thought nothing of it. She was one of the quiet ones—small, forgettable, with dark braids pinned neatly at the back of her head. I remembered she was the one who delivered Lucas last letter.
She placed the next dish before me, bowed, and lingered a moment too long. My pulse tripped. Her sleeve brushed against my hand, and I felt the faintest slip of paper against my palm.
My spoon froze halfway to my mouth.
She lowered her gaze, retreated swiftly. Damon didn’t notice—his phone buzzed with
