Saturday arrived with a heavy, suffocating stillness. The storm had cleared, leaving the Florida air thick and carrying the scent of damp earth and salt. I spent the morning staring at the S-Grate schematics until the lines blurred into static. Point-three seconds. It was such a small margin. A heartbeat. A blink. If I missed it, I wasn’t just failing to stop Darian, I was finalizing the weapon.
Margot didn’t come alone. She was flanked by two assistants and Marcus, who stood at the threshold like a gargoyle. Margot looked different today. She seemed sharper, devoid of her usual feminine flourish. She carried a garment bag as if it were a shroud.
“It’s time, Tess,” she said. No pleasantries. No commentary on the “beautiful day” we were having. She unzipped the bag. A gown of midnight b
