The night air pressed cold against the hotel suite's windows. Below, the city pulsed with lights and life that never ceased moving. But on the upper floor, Finn Harrison sat in silence, staring at the portable CCTV screen that had just replayed the park incident.
Hazel. Strawberry ice cream. Blair running while screaming. Jonathan chasing with eyes ready to explode.
Everything had gone according to script. Brief. Without a trace. But enough to shake them.
Finn leaned back into the sofa. His fingers played with the lid of an empty porcelain cup. No wind. No music. Only deliberate silence.
His face was flat. But his eyes held embers that hadn't died since one thing happened:
Annabelle Spencer had returned to the stage.
Not as the spoiled child of the Spencer family. But as a woman who
