Valtira.
She should not be here.
She could not be here.
If memory served me right, Lyssandra would never lower herself to wander into a modest pack such as this. She had always carried herself like sharpened steel, proud, untouchable, intolerant of inconvenience. The mere thought of a child crashing into her should have earned a glare cold enough to freeze blood.
Yet she had remained calm.
Too calm.
Every instinct within me screamed that danger had just brushed past my shoulder.
And Raven was still standing behind me.
The only safe choice was denial.
Distance.
Erasure.
“I am sorry,” I said sharply, forcing my expression into polite confusion. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
I nodded toward Martha and tightened my hold on Raven’s hand, turning to leave.
Her finger
