The moon hung high in the night sky, a cold, white eye watching over the sleeping Thompson estate. The garden was now a landscape of grey shadows and rustling leaves. The wind blew through the trees, making a low, whistling sound that felt like a warning.
Ashlyn sat on the stone bench in the pavilion. She was wrapped in a thick cloak to protect herself from the chill, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. She wasn't looking at the garden. She was looking at the moon, her face hard and pale.
She heard footsteps on the gravel path. They were fast, impatient steps.
Senna walked into the pavilion. She looked tired and annoyed. Her usual perfect appearance was a bit messy. Her hair was loose, and her dress was simple. She didn't see the dark figure crouching in the shadows behind the stone pillar.
Senna curtsied, but it was a quick, disrespectful dip.
