Drying herself off, she felt like a new person. Giving her clothes the same treatment—at least as best as she could with hand soap—she wrapped herself up in an oversized towel the same cream color as the house, and picked out a bedroom, hanging her wet clothes over a chair.

Absently detangling her hair with her fingers, she leaned against the window, looking down at the street and the houses below.

This was what she wanted, a community like this that could thrive and survive. This is what they needed to build back home.

She was running. Running. She didn’t know what she was running from, but she was running for her life. There was something chasing her, something fast, and she didn’t know what it was, didn’t want to wait and find out. It wasn’t an orc, not if it moved that fast, but she knew that if she stopped she would die. She could hear Brett in the back of her mind, telling her to run, telling her not to stop. Suddenly the ground beneath her feet ended, and she was falling, falling, and it was dark, and she didn’t know when she would hit the bottom.

Rachael sat up in bed with a start, dagger clenched in her hand, sweat beading along her forehead and dripping between her breasts, heart racing. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Sun streamed through her window—how could it be morning already?—and she lay in what was probably the softest bed she had been in since . . . well, maybe ever.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she put the dagger down, letting herself collapse back against the pillows.

A knock at her door forced her to leave the soft warmth of the bed, but she did so with a grumble, her bare feet padding across the plush carpet. Running her fingers through her hair to smooth the morning tangles, she opened the door a crack, remembering almost too late she was only in her underwear. Luckily it was Alice. Heavenly smells wafted through the inch opening.

“The council brought us breakfast,” she reported. “They want us to arrive, without any weapons, in an hour.”

“Arrive where?”

“Open the door,” demanded Alice. “This is heavy!”

Rachael did so, stopping short when Alice offered her a large plate of food. Pancakes dripping with maple syrup and a bowl of fresh fruit. Rachael stared at the plate as though she’d never seen food before.

“Right?” Alice exclaimed. “They have eggs too, and toast with butter. I haven’t had bread or butter in . . . well, it feels like forever.”

After nearly inhaling the food, Rachael pulled on her still damp jeans and T-shirt, grimacing at the feeling of cold, soggy fabric against her skin but reveling in the smell of jasmine soap. Oh, to have clean clothes . . . Like much else in Happy Valley, it seemed too good to be true.