The path to Donovan's study was quiet, save for the soft creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath Phoenix's boots. Her bad feeling lingered like a storm cloud, and she found herself walking faster, driven by the need for answers.
If anyone could shed light on Annette's strange behaviour, it would be Donovan.
As she entered the study, Donovan looked up from a stack of scrolls, his usual jovial expression melting into one of concern. His sharp eyes immediately honed in on the faint mark on Phoenix's cheek—the mark Nicola had left.
"Phoenix," Donovan said, his voice uncharacteristically sombre as he stood from his chair. He pointed at her face, his brows furrowing. "What's this? What happened to your face?"
Phoenix tensed but quickly turned her head, dismissing it with a casual wave of her hand. "It's nothing," she replied coldly, already anticipating where this was going.
