Haatim, Damien, and Frieda approached the dilapidated cabin with practiced stealth. The rotting wood creaked beneath their feet as they entered, the stench of decay assaulting their senses.

Rain began to fall from the sky.

As Adeline and Cordelia approached the Silver Stag Inn, the stark contrast between this part of the city and their usual haunts became increasingly apparent. The cobblestone streets gave way to muddy paths, and the air was thick with the pungent odors of unwashed bodies and stale ale.

The river's relentless current eventually began to slow, forcing Aria and her companions to make their way to the shore. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, they dragged themselves onto the rocky bank, gasping for air.

The sun had nearly disappeared behind the treeline when Haatim finally pulled the car onto a narrow, overgrown dirt road. They drove for another few minutes before coming to a stop in a small clearing. A lone figure stood waiting, his silhouette barely visible in the fading light.

The priest waited until things settled.  Lightning struck in the distance, followed seconds after by the roll of thunder.

The morning after the ball, Adeline woke early, her mind still buzzing with thoughts of the previous night's events. She dressed quickly, forgoing her usual elaborate hairstyle for a simple braid, and made her way downstairs.

As dawn broke over Millbrook, Aria and her companions prepared for their journey north. The town stirred to life around them, oblivious to the momentous departure taking place in its midst. Kelvin had secured a pair of sturdy horses and a small cart, loaded with supplies gleaned ...

As they sped down the highway, Frieda twisted in her seat to face Petrillo and Emma in the back. Her expression was grim, all traces of the earlier training session's levity gone.