Coco scanned the surrounding chaos, eyes sweeping across the scattered wreckage, the panicked horses, the fleeing figures, and the gelatinous slime that was alarmingly massive.
She ignored the way her heart raced, focusing on the task at hand. Cleora. She needed to find her. Her mother was here somewhere— probably responsible for the slime that was wrecking havoc on the hooded figures.
She pushed forward, keeping her eyes peeled for even the hint of dark hair, but she froze in her tracks, her breath catching sharply in her throat as her eyes landed on Cleora.
Her mother stood tall in the middle of the wreckage— her grip locked around the throat of a struggling figure.
The woman's face was dark with fury, her expression colder than Coco had ever seen it.
Coco could see that Cleora tightened her hold on the figure's neck and for a single, heart-stopping moment, Coco wondered—
Was this the Baroness? Or just another pawn?
