Aragon frowned. There was an edge to the messenger's tone that filled him with dread. "Speak," he commanded, his voice steady but low.
The messenger hesitated, his gaze shifting to the bag in his hands. "It… it was delivered with this."
Aragon's eyes narrowed. "What's in the bag?"
Without answering, the messenger placed the bag on the table. It was tied tightly with a black cord, water dripping from its soaked exterior. Something about it felt wrong—ominous.
"Open it," Aragon said, though a part of him already feared what he might find.
The messenger reached out, fumbling with the cord, his hands shaking. As the bag fell open, the room was filled with an unbearable silence.
Inside was a human head.
Aragon froze, his breath caught in his chest.
The face was unmistakable, even in death.
Leanna.
