The One
My suspicion is increased when she pulls a note from the folds of her dress and hands it to me, her expression serious.
“Read it,” she says, watching me closely.
I take the note and unfold it, my eyes scanning over the words. Once I see the signature at the bottom, I have to read it several more times to fully understand. It’s a warning, a plea, a flimsy explanation for his actions. He claims he’s coming, that he didn’t betray us, and that we need to listen to him if we want to survive. The words feel hollow, like a badly rehearsed excuse. I crumple the parchment in my fist, barely restraining my anger.
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