I wasn’t in a Disney movie, nor in a fairytale or in one of my books.
The office blurred.
And I was back there, the ballroom, on my eighteenth birthday party.
The packhouse full of guests.
Allies.
Family friends.
People who had smiled at us. Hugged us. Given gifts. Kissed our cheeks. Told us how beautiful we looked, how proud they were, how bright our future would be now that we were eighteen.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, someone between them had drugged my sister.
It could be anyone. Even Kian.
Someone had watched her drink or eat or breathe in whatever they had used on her.
Someone had been close enough.
Trusted enough.
“We don’t know if it was one of them,” I whispered.
“No,” Pops said. “We don’t. And until we do, we don’t hand them information that could get
