Shirley
I didn’t sleep. Not really.
By the time the sun cast a pale glow across Ashridge, I was already out of bed, hair tied in a messy bun, black hoodie pulled over my tank top, and sneakers laced like I was bracing for a war. Because in a way, I was. A war inside myself.
I needed answers. No more whispers in shadows. No more riddles disguised as truths.
Zara texted me to say she’d be late to work. I almost texted back, Don’t bother—I’m not staying long anyway, but I erased it. Today wasn’t about work.
It was about me.
I made a beeline straight to Cassandra.
She was at the old biker clinic-turned-safehouse on the outskirts of town—one of Dante’s places, though I wasn’t sure how many people actually knew about it. When I knocked on the door, it was Talon who answered, eyebrows lift
