Cassandra's cart suddenly stopped midair few places away from Malachi's mansion. An uneasy silence hung in the air, broken only by the driver's whispered words.
"My lady," he stammered, his voice tight with fear. "Something's amiss. There's... there's blood. Streaks of it, running from the entrance."
Zafron's eyes widened, his heart pounding. Without a word, he flung open the cart door and leapt out. The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he strode forward, his gaze fixed on the mansion's grand entrance.
His mind raced, a torrent of worry and anger. 'Mara... Matilda... if they've been harmed...' His jaw clenched, bitterness rising like bile in his throat. "I swear," he muttered through gritted teeth, "if a single hair on their heads has been touched, there won't be enough left of the responsible parties to bury, not even Malachi himself."
