The Wistful Petal
Chapter One Renate Becker, thirty-four years old, had not slept in four days because the sleet on the alpine path was making her boots freeze into the stone, a fact that mattered more than the pension she sought to secure by catching a smuggler. The air in the valley smelled of wet wool and old rust, a scent that clung to the back of her throat as she climbed the final switchback toward the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews