Copper pots hung from the ceiling, catching the faint light from the window.

I looked through the cracked door into the kitchen.

A man in a black leather jacket stood near the marble island.

He held a silenced pistol in his right hand.

He had his back to us, scanning the hallway outside.

Bishop let out a tiny, nearly silent hiss through his teeth.

I placed my hand on his broad head, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Easy,” I breathed. “We go out the back.”

There was a glass door leading to the terrace and the gardens.

If we could reach the gardens, we could get to the park that bordered the estate.

My mother’s words echoed in my mind again.

She had died five years ago, leaving me with nothing but a silver key and a head full of strange warnings.

“If the Draven name ever crosses your path, Mara, you look for the silent black orchid.”

“And if the wolves come, you run to the park by the old conservatory.”

“I will have a friend waiting.”

I had never understood those words until tonight.