The sitting room fell into an uncomfortable silence after Viktor and Gareth left.
Toby still held the cloaked woman's hand, his innocent eyes staring up at her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world.
The kid had no sense of danger—none at all.
But the woman, she just stood there like a damn statue, not moving, not speaking, barely even breathing.
Kaida leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, red eyes locked onto the stranger. Every instinct in her body screamed that this bitch was trouble.
The way she held herself, the hollow look in those eyes, the faint scent of blood that clung to her despite the dirt and grime—yeah, this wasn't some rescued slave.
This was a killer.
But looking at her frail frame, those bony wrists poking out from under the cloak, the way her shoulders hunched forward like she'd been beaten into submission—Kaida's lip curled.
