(Point de vue de Scarlett)

Breakfast was the last thing on my mind. Any sparks of appetite I had were completely smothered by the oppressive silence in the dining room. I sat quietly at the polished wooden table, my fingers gripping the hem of my sweater nervously. The aroma of freshly baked bread and warm tea filled the air, but I hardly noticed.

Hunter sat diagonally across, his expression neutral, yet I could feel his latent curiosity. The pack housekeeper bustled quietly in ...