Snow whispers against the glass walls of my penthouse as I stand motionless before the screen.
The message that appeared moments ago still pulses like a stolen heartbeat:
ROGUE ISN’T DEAD.
MEET ME ON THE CIRCUIT.
MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
Underneath it —
Luna’s name.
My blood turns electric.
Not because someone revived the legend I tried to bury.
But because they’re pointing him straight at her.
A cold ember of fear burns low in my chest. Fear is not something I entertain easily. But tonight, it has weight. Shape. Teeth.
My hands curl slowly at my sides.
Someone wants her on that track.
Someone wants her vulnerable.
Someone wants me to come.
This is not coincidence.
This is a move.
A challenge.
A trap wrapped in nostalgia and neon.
The ghost of Rogue is being used like a we
