The safehouse stood in the shadow of towering trees, its dark wooden exterior blending seamlessly with the dense forest around it. Vines snaked up the walls, and the windows were covered with thick, iron bars. The building exuded an aura of secrecy, its weathered appearance suggesting years of hiding secrets.

Draven led Freya and her mother to the front door, a solid slab of reinforced wood. He glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings one last time before pushing the door open. It creaked ominously, revealing a dimly lit interior that smelled faintly of damp earth and aged wood.

Inside, the safehouse was sparse but functional. A...