CHAPTER 72
The driveway was a void of wet gravel and receding mist. The taillights of the King's car had long since vanished into the darkness, leaving the North Wing in a silence so profound it felt as though the very stones were leaning in to eavesdrop on her heartbeat.
Isabella pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her breath blooming in a pale, fading cloud.
"I know you're there," she breathed, her voice barely a tremor. "I've felt you all day."
For a long, agonizing moment, the woods remained a wall of black and gray, indifferent to her plea.
Then, as if the darkness itself had decided to exhale, the shadows beneath an oak began to shift.
The figure manifested into thin air. It was closer now—startlingly close, standing just where the manicured lawn surrendered to the wild rot of the forest.
