The air in the house was heavy, pressing against my chest like a slab of stone. The silence wasn’t real; it was filled with echoes of recent chaos—the furniture that flew, the growls, the sound of my own ragged breathing as I fought for my life.
My eyes roamed over the room, now unrecognizable. The broken table, shattered glass, and bloodstains still marking the floor.
Everything reminded me how close I had come to not making it out alive.
I ran a trembling hand along the armrest of my chair, searching for some stability as my mind tried to process what I already knew but didn’t want to accept. This hadn’t been a warning.
They had come to kill me.
The attack left no doubt. Morgana wouldn’t stop. Her message was clear: there’s no place for you here. And staying, resisting, wasn’t just
