Mortal
Everything is about to change–again.
The carriage reaches the edge of the water, and the bridge slowly lowers, creaking like an ancient ship. It slices through the fog, scattering the haze. There it is, halfway across the river and on an island, just like Brynn said: an old stone mansion, barely visible in the haze. Behind it, other buildings take shape in the fog, but they look like little more than dark masses.
Behind me, Brynn whimpers.
I swallow, doing my best to push back the anxiety. I have no clue what’s headed my way next, and I feel like a trapped animal.
Bab Populer