Inside the inn, silence reigned.
Ophelia, Fidelia, and the rest of their party stood motionless, their gazes fixed firmly on the closed entrance.
The flickering lantern light cast long shadows across the wooden floor, but none of them seemed to notice. Their attention was wholly consumed by what lay beyond the door.
Shock lingered in the air.
So did confusion.
And beneath it all, a deep, gnawing worry.
Ophelia's lips trembled faintly as she clenched the hem of her robe with white-knuckled fingers, as though gripping it tightly could anchor her racing heart.
Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
Several times, she had taken a half-step toward the door, only to force herself to stop.
She wanted to rush outside and search for that stingy, infuriating boy.
Yet she didn't.
With her current strength, she knew the truth all too well. If she went out there, she would not help him. She would only become a burden.
A weakness he would be forced to protect.
