ELENA
The box with Maggie’s dagger sat untouched on my nightstand for hours.
I tried to ignore it, tried to read, tried to sleep. But my eyes kept drifting to that velvet-lined box. To the sharp glint of silver through the crack in the lid. To the way my pulse seemed to react every time I so much as looked at it.
Eventually, I gave up.
I pulled the box into my lap and opened it fully. The dagger gleamed in the low light of my bedside lamp, sharp and almost too beautiful to be a weapon. Its handle was etched with crescent moons and knotwork designs that shimmered faintly when I turned it. It was weighty, but not heavy. Balanced.
And underneath it—tucked neatly in the bottom of the box—was an envelope.
I slipped the paper free and opened it. Inside was a single-page letter, typed on cr
