Shirley
The morning air bit at my skin as I stepped outside, hugging my jacket tighter around me. Ashridge was quieter than usual. Too quiet. A fog clung low to the ground, wrapping the streets in a ghostly veil. Everything felt… off. As if the town itself was holding its breath.
Last night’s events were still a tangled mess in my head—the blood, the rogues, the way Dante had stormed in like a storm, claws bared and eyes glowing with fury. But what haunted me most wasn’t the attack.
It was Asher.
The way he fought—too smooth. Too calculated. Like someone trained to kill, not survive. His confession that he knew about werewolves had left a bitter taste in my mouth. What else was he hiding?
Zara was already at the bar when I arrived, fussing with a stack of menus.
“You okay?” she asked
