The smoke cleared to reveal Oak sat alone in the centre of the room, a white rose in his hand.
“What happened?” Robert asked. “Is she dead?”
“Not dead, no” Oak replied. “Our kind rarely, truly die. Not through encounters with the Weave, anyway.” He looked at us as he said this, darkness etched in his brow. “Rose has been forced to retire, return to the forest and recuperate.”
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Now,” he sighed wearily, “The assassin is contained. It wont be long before the house is jumping with all manner of creep and ghoul and bump in the night. Then we can sort this mess out.”
