The rains hadn't let up in Greydock Town. Though there was no thunder, the downpour was relentless, soaking roofs and washing muddy rivers through the alleyways. Still, the Grantham home remained lit, warm, and fragrant with the scent of tea, burning wood, and homemade cakes.
But outside, across the town, another carriage creaked toward its destination —uninvited.
Inside sat a young woman whose beauty was disarming, her raven-dark hair sleek as river silk, and her eyes blue as frost. Draped beside her sat a little girl, perhaps seven, scared and shaken. Her hands clutched the edge of her threadbare shawl. The coachman ahead — a man with pale skin and angular features — barely looked back.
"We might need to stop for Grisella to rest and get some warmth, Kevin," the young woman said gently, her voice carrying above the rain's rhythm.
"She isn't a baby," Kevin spat. "She doesn't need warmth."
