Chapter 55: The Ghost in Brindle's Cross
The market square of Brindle's Cross hummed with noisy, ordinary life under a pale afternoon sun.
Vendors called out their wares, children darted between wooden carts, and the air smelled of freshly baked bread, roasted chestnuts, and sweet herbal wine.
But beneath the peaceful chaos, a thin, prickly tension lingered—the kind that made the hairs on Hannah's arms stand straight up, the kind her years of hiding and surviving in the Bennington manor had taught her to fear.
At only fourteen, she still moved with the quiet, guarded slowness of someone who had spent most of her life avoiding attention.
Her golden magic lay calm but constantly alert beneath her skin, a faint, warm hum she had learned to live with since escaping the manor.
Tucked safely beneath her tunic, her mother's silver pendant—etched with the name Beatrice—rested warm against her chest.
