Right at the doorway was a long, thick line of salt.
Elara's expression shifted but she didn't say anything. She simply stepped over it and walked into the room.
Inside, the bed was also surrounded by a full circle of salt neatly drawn as if it were some kind of protective barrier. At the center of it, Ziva was curled tightly into herself wrapped in so many layers of clothing and blankets that she looked like a giant cocoon.
But that wasn't the strangest part.
Even in her sleep, she held a mop stick tightly in her right hand and a broomstick in her left. Her grip on them were firm as if she was ready to fight at any moment.
Around her on the bed were even more "defensive tools" carefully arranged within her reach. A metal hanger at one side, the bedside lamp at the other.
There was also a slipper positioned near her feet and another one tucked under her arm. Lastly was the small bottle of water sitting beside her.
