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Morna was back at her modiste, her haven amidst the turmoil of her thoughts. The quiet of the shop was a stark contrast to the opulent chaos of the banquet she had attended a few weeks ago. The memory of the night still lingered in her mind as she moved about the space, tidying up bolts of fabric and adjusting displays. But her thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the bold confrontation with the Wilsons.

She had stood her ground, determined to help Drakon despite the dangers. But now, as the adrenaline of the moment faded, doubt crept in. She had no concrete plan, no clear path forward. How could...