It started with the wind.
A sudden hush that wasn’t natural.
I had been folding a fresh cloth over the table in my chamber, an act born more of nerves than necessity,when a sharp prickle crawled up the back of my neck. My skin tightened. My ears caught a shift in the air current that didn’t belong.
There were no windows open. No doors ajar. But the shadows changed shape.
The mark on my neck throbbed once, hard.
I froze.
A whisper of movement behind the door. Then silence. But not the comfortable kind. The kind that wraps around you like a noose.
My fingers drifted toward the dagger tucked beneath the mattress. I gripped it, heart hammering. Something was wrong. Something was here.
I crept toward the corner, pressing my back against the stone wall just beside the door. My breath was
