CYRILLA'S POV
I was hunched over my desk, juggling a presentation on one screen and a flurry of chats and emails on the other, when Hunter’s voice cut through my focus. I looked up to find him standing in the doorway, his expression unusually tense—shadowed by something I couldn’t quite place.
“Cyrilla, there’s someone in the garden who wants to see you,” he said, his tone casual, a stark contrast to the look on his face. “A friend.”
I frowned. “A friend?” I echoed, confused.
Who could possibly want to see me? I knew how Hunter felt about outsiders. And even if someone did want to visit, none of my friends would know how to find this place. Honestly, I didn’t even know where I was—not exactly. All I knew was that I was somewhere in Canada, for reasons I still couldn’t fully remember.
