Ten years ago, the only thing Lana Vane inherited was a taste for the dangerous truth. She stood in a dusty, forgotten storage unit, not mourning the mother who had vanished, but tracing the single, cryptic inscription etched onto the base of a forgotten jade statue: Don't trust the glitter, darling. The heart is the map. J.T. knows. That sentence became her compass. Every calculated risk, every forged invitation, every late-night climb was an offering to the ghost of her mother, a relentless search for the truth about the shadowy cabal known as The Consortium. She didn't seek justice for the world; she sought vengeance for a stolen childhood. But tonight, as she adjusted the silver fox mask before breaking into Julian Thorne's palace, she feared that the glitter she'd been warned about was about to reflect back into her own guarded soul.