Carina stood frozen in the corridor long after Willow's cloaked figure had disappeared around the corner.
On any other night, she would have followed, would have cornered the slave girl and demanded to know where she was sneaking off to at such an hour.
She would have made cruel jokes, perhaps threatened to report her to the head of household, enjoyed watching fear flicker across those pretty features.
Tonight, she simply didn't have the energy.
Because she knew. Somehow, without any concrete proof, without having followed or questioned, she knew exactly where Willow was going.
The knowledge sat in her stomach like a stone. It was heavy and undeniable. She was going to Dorian.
Carina leaned against the cold stone wall, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. The rational part of her mind argued that she couldn't possibly know this for certain.
