ELIANA'S POV

The moment I stepped out of my room, I regretted it.

The heavy air of the packhouse carried something unusual—laughter. Not the easy, carefree kind that warmed hearts, but sharp, lilting, the kind that dug under my skin and refused to leave. A woman’s laugh.

I already knew who it belonged to before I followed the sound toward the dining hall.

Karen.

For a week, whispers had rippled through the corridors. Kristen had guests. Not just any guests, but Damon—the ...