A tranquil, early-winter snowfall was falling over coastal Maine as the private Cross Intelligence jet landed at the airfield in Bangor, transferring Damian and Maya to Blackwood Sanctuary by late afternoon. The fortress was cloaked in pristine white. Snow clung to the needles of the ancient hemlocks and blanketed the rugged granite cliffs, while the dark Atlantic rolled beneath an iron-gray December sky. Inside Blackwood Sanctuary, Mrs. Hughes had prepared…
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