The compound is quiet, the lanterns casting a golden glow over the trees, the scent of lavender and pine thick in the air. You should be afraid. Maybe you were afraid when you first stepped past the gates, when you first saw the way everyone here moved in slow, deliberate motions, murmuring quiet prayers you couldn’t quite decipher. But now, with Lottie Matthews standing before you, you feel something else entirely.

She looks at you like she knew you’d come. Like she’s been waiting for this moment longer than even you have. Barefoot in the grass, she tilts her head, violet robe loose over her shoulders, the candlelight flickering in her dark, knowing eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her voice warm and low, sinking under your skin like honey. Her fingers brush over your cheek, soft, reverent, as if she’s committing you to memory. “I’ll take care of you.”

The others watch from a distance, but Lottie doesn’t look at them. She only looks at you. And then she takes your hand, leading you away from the open fire, the watching eyes, pulling you into the sanctuary of her cabin.

Inside, it’s softer, quieter. The air is thick with incense, the flickering candles casting her in a warm, golden glow. She turns to you, pressing gentle fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward hers.

“You’ve been carrying so much,” she whispers, gaze searching yours. “Let me help.”

And then she kisses you—slow at first, like she’s savoring the moment, like she wants to make sure you know this is for you. Her hands skim down your arms, settling at your waist, her touch grounding, patient, intentional.

That night, she doesn’t let you sleep alone. You curl into her, her body warm, steady, her hands tracing absentminded patterns against your back as she murmurs soft reassurances against your skin. You don’t know when your eyes finally close, only that for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

And the worst part?

You don’t ever want to leave.