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Diana led me through the rest quickly. The bedroom held a king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens that practically glowed in the fading light, while the bathroom sparkled withnew fixtures and a clawfoot tub that looked like it had stories to tell. Everything was clean and carefully prepared, as if she'd been expecting me specifically.

When she paused at the bedroom door frame, that strange shimmer flickered around her again.

"I keep to myself in the main house," she said, the air practically vibrating around her. "This space is yours."

"Thanks," I managed, swallowing back about fifty questions.

Her smile was gentle but knowing, like she could read every question I wasn't asking. "Rest. Tomorrow's another day." Then she was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I waited until Diana's footsteps faded completely. A glass-paned door caught my attention, tucked between the herb rack and pantry. It opened onto a small patio garden—late-season herbs sprawling everywhere, stubborn marigolds dotting the borders, kale and winter squash spilling over neat beds.

The peaceful setting hit me like a physical blow. After a night of running, of holding myself together in front of strangers who couldn't know what had happened, it was a relief to let it go.

My legs gave out, and I sank onto a stone bench, letting the tears finally come. Not the hysterical sobs I'd been expecting, just a steady stream of relief and exhaustion and lingering terror. When the tears dried, I felt hollowed out but somehow lighter.

Time to go in.

I put the copper kettle to use, careful not to look too hard at its familiar shape. The ritual of measuring leaves from a tin labeled "Evening Calm" centered me, gave my hands something to do while my mind processed the day.

The reading nook beckoned. I curled into the armchair with my tea, spreading out the files from the agency. That arrogant man—whose name I still didn't know—had practically thrownthese at me. Five black folders, each containing a client photo that made me pause.

The more I studied them, the more wrong they seemed. The woman with silver-white hair had an ethereal quality that went beyond good lighting. Another woman's eyes reflected an actual golden gleam in the camera flash. A redhead with a predatory grace that made my newly-enhanced instincts buzz with recognition.

I flipped through the intake forms, looking for clues. The questions seemed normal at first glance, but some were oddly specific. "Night owl or early bird?" could mean preference for evening dates, but paired with "Any dietary restrictions or preferences?" it started to paint a different picture. Especially when one client had written "rare" under preferred meal preparation.

A thought struck me. I'd walked into that dingy office, been hired on the spot for ten thousand dollars, and walked out with these specific files. The man behind the desk had been dismissive, almost hostile, until Diana's name came up. Then he'd practically shoved work at me without explanation.

What kind of matchmaking service operated like that?

I started organizing the files, looking for patterns. The redhead with predatory eyes went in one pile—something about her screamed danger in a way that felt familiar. The ethereal woman in another. The one with golden eyes definitely belonged with the redhead.

My hand froze over a fourth file. The man in the photo looked normal enough, but there was something about his smile that didn't reach his eyes. Something that reminded me of old stories my grandmother used to tell, about creatures that fed on more than food.

The pieces clicked together slowly. These weren't just difficult clients. They were...different. And if they were different,then what did that make the agency? What did that make Diana, with her impossible grace and that strange shimmer I kept seeing?

I set down my tea with shaking hands. Whatever I'd stumbled into, it was bigger than a simple matchmaking service. The question was: did I run, or did I stay and figure out exactly what I'd gotten myself into?

A circuit of the cottage gave me time to think. Every window locked securely, every door solid. Small symbols were carved into the frames—protection charms I'd once dismissed as folk superstition. Now they hummed with subtle energy under my fingers, making my skin tingle.

Tomorrow I'd have to face whatever this was. Meet these clients, pretend to understand what I was doing, figure out how to navigate this new reality. But for now, I had walls between me and the world, a door that locked, and work to focus on.

Even if that work was apparently more complicated than I'd thought.

I changed into one of the soft t-shirts Diana had left for me, then slipped between sheets that smelled faintly of lavender. The cottage settled around me with small creaks and sighs, like it was welcoming me home. For the first time in three days, my mind wasn't racing with immediate panic.

I drifted off wondering what exactly I'd agreed to do, and whether I was brave enough—or desperate enough—to see it through.

Chapter

Seven

JUNIPER

Dawn crept into the cottage like a shy visitor, painting the unfamiliar walls in gentle golds and pinks. I'd been awake for hours already, perched in the window seat with my third cup of tea, watching darkness fade into morning. Sleep felt dangerous still. Too much like being buried.

The dress hung on the bathroom door where I'd left it last night, a deep navy thing that Diana had provided along with other "essentials." Simple, elegant, and absolutely not my usual style. But then again, Hazel's usual style needed to stay dead and buried, just like Hazel herself.

My fingers trembled slightly as I smoothed the fabric. First day of work. First day of being someone new.