“We should be leaving now,” Jasper growls out. He runs his hand through his hair, pulling the locks.

“It is only for a few hours,” Alma explains. “We will be able to make up the time later on.”

“I do not feel comfortable here,” he retorts, snarling.

The Climont soldiers mill about, shining their weapons or cooking their dinner. The maids constantly glance over at the Pivurlions, their brows stitched up with unease. Jasper refuses to relax in this ...