The wind in the North had a certain smell to it.
It wasn't the cold itself that lingered in the air, but the faint trace of metal and smoke. The scent of a city that had forgotten peace.
I adjusted the gloves on my hands as I stood near the courtyard gates of the Bluerose mansion, where the rose bushes glimmered with frost like scattered shards of glass. The name Bluerose itself carried a weight of nobility, prestige, and pride. Yet, the silence in this estate was suffocating — as if the air here remembered too much.
I shouldn't have taken this job.
That's what I told myself every morning.
But every time I saw her, I knew I couldn't leave.
Amy Bluerose.
The eldest daughter of the Bluerose family.
The woman I once killed.
