My footsteps echoed sharply. I kept my head high, shoulders straight. No hesitation. No weakness.
The guard opened the heavy iron door to the cells. We descended further until we reached the last one. There she was.
Benedicta Petterson—or Lia Storm, whatever she called herself now. The woman from my dreams. The one who had led me into the woods that terrible night. She had short black hair, messy like she’d been running her fingers through it in panic. Her black eyes widened with fear the second she saw me.
“I don’t know anything!” she blurted out immediately, pressing herself against the back wall of the cell.
I placed one hand on my chest, keeping my voice calm and cold. “Oh? I don’t remember asking you anything yet.”
She looked down, shoulders shaking. I moved closer to the bars an
