This morning, the stillness in the penthouse is almost eerie after the chaos of last night with Jade and Willow.
For the past three days, I’ve been living in a floating bubble of soft blankets, good food, and the comfort of people who love me. The violence of the warehouse, the blood on the concrete, and the ghost of Knox felt like a closed book – a dark, terrifying story that had finally reached its last page.
Then my phone buzzes on the glass coffee table. I pick it up, frowning at the unfamiliar number on the screen. I slide my thumb across the glass, pressing the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Callahan?" A formal voice cuts through the line, crisp, educated, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Zara Callahan?”
“Yes, speaking. Who is this?"
"Ms. Callahan, this is Phillip Meade," the
