Rissa’s POV

The garden had changed.

Or maybe I had.

I sat on the low stone bench nestled between the wisteria vines and the wild roses that curled like quiet sentinels around the edge of the estate. Moonlight filtered through the branches, silvery and soft, pooling over the damp earth. I pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, pressing my knuckles to my lips as if that could hold everything in.

The wind shifted.

Footsteps.

I didn’t turn. Not at first. The cadence was too ...