The rain fell in heavy sheets, drumming against the cobblestone path that led up to Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the faint tang of iron, a storm-churned omen that made the trek all the more ominous. Shadows stretched across the grand, aged facade of the school, its lights a dim beacon through the storm.

Inside, the air was warmer, but no less tense. The flickering glow of candles lined the walls, casting a golden light that danced and played tricks on your eyes. The halls were eerily silent, save for the distant hum of voices coming from the parlor.

The coven sat in a loose circle, the room buzzing with an undercurrent of fear. Fiona Goode, regal and imperious even under duress, stood by the mantle with a glass of scotch in hand. Her golden hair caught the firelight, but her eyes were sharp and calculating as they scanned the room.

Fiona: "We have a hunter among us," she declared, her voice low but carrying the weight of authority. "One who knows exactly what we are and isn’t afraid to strike."

Cordelia Foxx, seated with her hands clenched tightly in her lap, leaned forward. Cordelia: "We need to protect ourselves—now. Another witch was found in Baton Rouge, throat slit, her body burned. This isn’t random, Fiona."

Madison: "The Council won’t act fast enough," Madison drawled from her seat on the chaise, twirling a cigarette between her fingers. "When do they ever? We need to take matters into our own hands."

As the coven exchanged heated words, the storm outside roared, rattling the windows. It was Misty Day, her soft voice a contrast to the storm’s fury, who noticed something unusual at the entrance door

She tilted her head, her wild curls framing her face like a halo. Misty: "We’ve got a visitor," she said softly, a note of curiosity in her tone.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the door and they opened it to see you standing there on the front Terrace