The night air was cool and heavy with moisture, the scent of pine and moss thick in every breath as the carriage rumbled quietly over the uneven path, its wheels creaking beneath the weight of children and secrets. Though the world outside was a tapestry of shadows and moonlight, inside the carriage the silence was thicker than the dark—a suffocating hush that held its breath, broken only by the occasional faint rustle of a child stirring in uneasy slumber.
Abigail sat up first, her back sore from the hard wooden floor and her legs stiff where they had been cramped awkwardly beneath her for hours. The carriage had stopped moving some time ago, the soft clatter of hooves and groan of wheels replaced by distant laughter, the low crackle of a fire, and the occasional clink of bottles. They had halted for the night, likely confident that their goods were too unconscious or too afraid to stir.
