THE RITUAL AND THE TRAP
At six ten in the morning, the encrypted phone on the nightstand vibrated against the wood. Three dry buzzes that rattled my nerves.
I rested my back against the mahogany headboard, pulling the silk sheets over my bare chest. Next to me, Aaron didn't even blink upon hearing the phone.
It was obvious he was awake—he likely had been for hours. I could tell by the rigidity in his shoulders and his furrowed brow. Something had him restless, and that frightened me.
He lay on his back with his torso bare, his eyes fixed on the ceiling fresco where an archangel crushed a demon. The only proof he was alive was the rhythmic movement of his chest and the fingernail marks I had left on his right shoulder.
I stretched my arm and swiped open the phone's screen. The me
