Broad French doors sit in the far wall. Through the panes of glass, I can see glimpses of a veranda of sorts, though there’s no patio furniture to mar the sprawling view of the gardens. The predawn sky beyond is washed with gray and silver. The moon still hangs in the sky, bright and pure.
We can’t stay here, I think to myself yet again.
But I want to. I want to so, so badly. I want to stay here with this man who can protect me, in this house filled with beautiful things, with gentle people. It’s better than the cruel world beyond the walls.
I sigh bitterly and turn to go back to the room—when my peripheral vision catches a flash of movement from one of the corner windows set alongside the French doors.
I turn, expecting to see a bird or squirrel peering within.
But instead, I see the
