The tension in the air hadn’t faded, even as Damien took a step back from the packhouse. His green eyes flickered between Felicia and the boys, something unreadable swimming in them.

Felicia stood on the porch, arms crossed, her expression calm but distant. She had let Damien spend a few more moments with Danny and Max, watching silently as he ruffled their hair and spoke to them in hushed tones.

Finally, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, his voice firm but not forceful.

Felicia hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay.”

Damien took another glance at his sons, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Felicia released a slow breath, the tension leaving her shoulders, but the unease in her heart remained. Danielle was out there. Watching. Plotting. And she had an army of rogues under her control.

Lucien walked up beside her, his arms crossed, watching Damien disappear into the woods. “At least he knows when to leave,” he muttered.

Felicia let out a soft sigh. “He’s their father, Lucien.”

Lucien’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned toward the packhouse. “I’m going to talk to the guards before nightfall. With Danielle lurking around, we can’t take any chances.”

Felicia nodded, appreciating his caution. Danielle was unpredictable. Dangerous. And if tonight proved anything, it was that she wouldn’t stop until she had her revenge.

“Go inside,” Lucien added, his tone gentler now. “You’ve had a long day.”

Felicia didn’t argue. With one last glance toward the darkening forest, she turned and walked back into the Silverstone Packhouse.

The warmth of the packhouse should have been comforting, but something about the way the hallways felt too quiet, too still made Felicia uneasy.

The day’s events weighed heavily on her mind as she moved toward her room, her thoughts tangled between Damien’s return, the boys’ emotions, and Danielle’s threats.

She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t notice the old woman standing at the end of the hall.

Felicia stopped, her breath hitching slightly.

The woman stood hunched, wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl, her thin hands gripping the edges of the fabric tightly. Her hair was long and silver, braided loosely over one shoulder.

Her eyes, however, were the most unsettling—pale, almost glassy, as if she were staring into something no one else could see.

Felicia recognized her immediately.

The old woman who Lucien claimed had dementia.

She had seen her before—wandering the halls, mumbling to herself, always watching.

Felicia swallowed, forcing herself to offer a polite smile. “Good evening.”

The old woman didn’t respond. She simply tilted her head, studying Felicia with those hazy, unfocused eyes.

Then, she spoke.

“You will have the same fate as her.”

Felicia’s entire body froze.

Her stomach dropped, a cold wave of dread creeping up her spine.

Her throat felt dry. “Excuse me?”

The old woman blinked slowly, as if coming out of a trance.

“The same fate.” Her voice was eerily soft but clear, full of something that made Felicia’s heart pound.

Felicia’s fingers tightened around the edge of her dress. “What are you talking about?”

The old woman’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “The one before you. The one he loved. She thought she was safe, too.”