In a small, dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the air was thick with dust and the smell of rusted metal. Josephine and Morgana sat tied to two sturdy chairs, their eyes obscured by strips of dark cloth. Despite the situation, there was no scent of fear in the room—only the quiet, rhythmic breathing of two women who were far more dangerous than their captors realized.
The chairs were placed back-to-back, allowing them to speak in low tones beneath the notice of the guards.
"I am confused here. What exactly is your plan?" Morgana whispered, leaning her head back slightly.
"I want to see the official," Josephine replied calmly.
