Margo
CREAAAAAK
Margo's blood turned to ice as the rusty hinges of the infirmary door groaned, protesting their intrusion into the sterile silence. Her gaze, glued to the widening crack, tracked the silhouette forming in the opening—the silhouette of two figures hovered outside the door as it slowly creaked open.
A sudden thought made her catch her breath in her throat. 'Ambrose? Could it be him?'
She shook her head furiously as panic clawed at her throat, tightening like a vice. It couldn't be him. Not here, not now. But the familiar glint of moonlight on a silver amulet, a secret shared only between them, confirmed her worst fear.
"It's Ambrose. He must be here for me." Margo hissed, her voice barely a whisper.
