52

She was tall, likely around five foot nine, with long, jet-black hair that fell in waves down her back. It reminded me a bit of Night’s. She was beautiful, but it was understated in her soft cheekbones, round jawline, and deep, brown eyes. The woman and I continued to stare at each other until she finally leapt down the steps toward me.

I flinched as she came to a stop in front of me and the squash plants I was pruning. I half-expected a confrontation of some sort, but instead, I got a hug.

“Hello, hello,” the woman said, stepping back to look me in the eye. “You must be Bryn! I’m Octavia Black, and you can consider me your new best friend.”

I blinked, my brain slow to catch up with that whirlwind of a description. “I—I’m Bryn Hunter—”

“I know, I know! I don’t know if I said already, but I’ve been dying to meet you since you showed up! You’re kind of the only thing the pack’s been talking about. But I haven’t been able to find time to stop by for a visit until today. It’s good that I