Luna’s breath hitched the moment her eyes landed on the satchel. It had been carelessly pushed under the bedside table, barely hidden. Her foot had bumped into it as she turned to leave.
Something about it felt wrong.
A chill crawled up her spine as she slowly crouched down and pulled it toward her. The leather was worn, stained in places. Hesitation gripped her, but curiosity—or was it fear?—forced her fingers to tug the zipper open.
The moment she saw the contents, her stomach lurched.
Knives.
Not just any knives, but sharpened blades of varying sizes, their edges gleaming under the dim light. Some were crusted with dried blood, their handles stained dark. Nestled between them were surgical instruments—scalpels, forceps, even a bone saw.
What the hell is this…?
Her fingers tremble
