(Isla)
The large man, the one the dark haired man had sent toward me in the yard, had brought me inside the pack house.
Not through the hole in the wall. Through the front door, the one I'd used hundreds of times carrying trays and buckets and whatever else the pack needed moved from one place to another. I'd always entered through the back before. The kitchen door. The service entrance. The way you came in when you were not a person the front door was meant for.
He'd walked me through the front door without a word about it and I hadn't known what to do with that so I'd done nothing and just walked through it.
He'd settled me in a chair in the main room off the hall, the same room where I'd served meals and cleaned floors and kept my eyes down for five years, and he'd told me to stay t
