The next morning, Clara was a coiled wire of hostility, sharp, and vibrating with barely restrained venom. Her heels clicked like tiny sparks of irritation as she made her way to the Luna suite, fully prepared to begin Phase One of her campaign: break the girl early.
She imagined finding Alicia curled up on the bed, timid, and uncertain. Grateful for guidance. She also imagined tears and obedience, but nothing prepared her for what she found.
The suite was empty, the bed was neatly arranged, as if untouched. Clara stood in the doorway, blinking. Then her expression twisted into something poisonous.
“What the hell...?”
She whirled, fury propelling her down the grand staircase. Halfway down, a warm, enticing aroma drifted upward, sautéed herbs, simmering broth, something sweet baking in
