A Pretty Target

With Milla silenced and my appearance made "presentable," I head to the River Crest pack house. Twenty minutes of walking in heels isn't ideal, but it's a reasonable excuse to delay the inevitable.

The pack house comes into view too soon for my liking, and I heave a heavy sigh. This place is the absolute worst. It starkly contrasts the wilderness I usually call home, a grandeur that feels like another world.

Stepping through the opulent doors, I hold my breath and keep my gaze lowered to the floor, sticking to the walls and corners of each room.

My father's orders loop in my mind like a mantra—blend in, be quiet, be invisible. I've mastered this art form during the years I've barely survived in River Crest.

I risk a quick glance around the main hall and can't deny how beautiful the pack house is. White wisteria hangs from the ceiling and nearly every flat surface. Lace, tulle, and candles, all in River Crest's signature blue, white, and gold.

My blue dress blends with the event's blue,