RYMORA'S POV
Finally, the carriage came to a complete stop in front of a villa. The wheels creaked one last time before stillness set in, and Rymora had no choice but to step down, the hem of her uniform brushing against her ankles as she paid the driver what little she owed.
"Should I wait for you?" the human driver asked, his voice gruff with age, white hair fringing his cap and his wrinkled eyes darting around nervously at how late the night had grown.
But Rymora simply shook her head, her answer silent but firm. She didn't have enough money to keep him waiting, not for an unpredictable amount of time. And besides, she had no idea how long she would be inside Lord Drehk's villa.
If it comes to it… I'll just walk back, she thought with clenched teeth. Her steps forward were tense, deliberate. She might have been one of the weakest werewolves with a wolf spirit so frail it often felt non-existent, but she was still stronger than most humans. She could manage the way back.
