Azeelia Cole
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving the estate gardens wrapped in a cold, grey mist.
I sat on the sill of my reinforced bedroom window, a mug of lukewarm tea cradled in my palms. My ribs ached from the seatbelt impact on the parkway, and a purple bruise bloomed along my collarbone. But the physical ache was nothing compared to the buzzing paranoia inside my head.
L.D.
Those two letters from Ethan’s decrypted ledger fragment wouldn't leave me alone.
Down in the gravel courtyard below, Luca DeSantis stood near the open hood of an armored black sedan. He was smoking a cigarette, gesturing with a gloved hand as he barked instructions to three tactical guards. He wore his usual dark clothes, his holster strapped tight under his shoulder, his demeanor calm, efficient, and
