I had spent hours studying Diana’s meetings, searching for any pattern or clue that might make sense of what was happening—especially her secret meetings with the King—but I was getting nowhere.
I answered without hesitation.
"Hey, can we meet?" Elizabeth’s voice came through the line, tight with tension.
Immediately, my senses went on high alert. Something was wrong.
"Sure. Right now?" I asked, already closing my laptop and gathering my things.
"Yeah," she said. "I can meet you downstairs in ten minutes. Let’s get lunch."
"Sounds good."
The line went dead.
I stayed frozen for a moment, gripping my phone. Something was definitely wrong. That conversation had been far too normal—too rehearsed—given everything that had happened over the past few days.
I se
