The afternoon sun cast dappled light over the garden, illuminating the vibrant reds and greens of the peppers Freya was picking. The peacefulness of the moment eased some of the tension that had been gnawing at her since her last confrontation with her father. With each pepper she placed into the woven basket, she tried to push away the gnawing thoughts about how precarious her life had become.

A sudden rustle broke the tranquility.

Freya froze, her hand mid-reach. Her sharp senses, honed from years of living under Elias’s roof, picked up the sound immediately. It wasn’t the wind, and it wasn’t an animal. Someone was there.

Her heart began...