But Adrienne was cut off by one of the doors flying open. A dishevelled Wren entered, wearing an apron, her face smudged with dirt. ‘Sorry, sorry!’ She wiped her hands on a clean patch of her apron and reached for a plate as she scanned the room. ‘Did I miss anything? Did anyone else arrive —’ ‘Like who?’ Anya said, a coy smile on her lips. Wren pinned her with a challenging glare. ‘Like Cal, and Kipp…?’ ‘No one else?’ Anya pressed, her eyes bright. ‘Not a golden-haired Warsword, perhaps?’
