Clara Yale was not the sort of girl who was accustomed to the spotlight. At nineteen, she lived a quiet life in the small town of Ashton Valley. She was studious, kind-hearted, and deeply devoted to her family. There was nothing particularly remarkable about Clara. She had no history with men, no secret lovers, and no whispers of scandal following her like a shadow. Clara sat nervously in the sterile doctor’s office, the cool metal of the examination table biting into her skin. Her fingers twisted around each other, a habit she had developed from years of dealing with anxiety. It wasn’t that she was a nervous person—Clara had always been the quiet, introspective type, preferring to stay on the sidelines of life. But today, she felt the weight of something far more ominous than mere nerves pressing against her chest.