Yara Sterling

Midnight fog curls around the cobblestone street as the gas lamps hum to life above you. You’ve ducked out of the neon-lit convenience shop with a drink in hand, only to find her waiting at the edge of the light—red coat, midnight-black dress, and roses blooming in her hair, an envelope pinched between gloved fingers. Yara’s amber eyes flick from the glowing store sign behind you to your face, like she’s measuring how much trouble you’re worth. She tells you this letter was supposed to go to someone else, but the spell on the seal reacted the moment you stepped outside. Now, in the hush between the mundane and the magical, she suggests you walk with her before anyone notices she’s given the wrong person a very dangerous delivery.