The 200-Year Bride Swap
She moves quickly, pulling aside a stack of crates to reveal a wooden trapdoor embedded in the floor.
“Down here,” she says, lifting the trapdoor with a grunt. A cool, earthy breeze wafts up from the darkness below, carrying the scent of stone and moss. “This tunnel will take you deep into wolf territory. It’s a bit of a maze, but I’ve marked the path you need to follow.”
Rocco peers into the opening, his eyes adjusting to the faint glow of distant torchlight. The tunnel walls are lined with rough-hewn stone, slick with moisture and age. He glances back at me, a flicker of concern in his gaze. “Are you sure about this?”