There are certain moments when the universe decides to throw subtlety out the window and drop a grand piano on your chest instead. Watching Camille on surveillance footage... smirking like the devil’s executive assistant and casually discussing me like I was a reusable weapon.... definitely qualified.
I sat cross-legged on the rug in Jack’s spare room, flash drive plugged into my laptop, half a cup of cold tea abandoned beside me, and every nerve in my body on the verge of electrocution.
Camille leaned against some marble countertop in the video, lips glossy, eyes shark-sleek. “The vote won’t pass unless we fracture them,” she said. “They’re loyal to the twins. But not to each other. Not anymore.”
Another voice. Off-screen. Male. Calm in that smug, whistling-through-blood kind of way. “
