Marybeth
I had spent most of the last month learning how to distrust my instincts. Not because they were wrong. Because they kept being right. And every time they were right, something unpleasant followed. The scent on Seraphina. Lucian's appearance. The convoy kept on being ambushed.
The growing list of coincidences that no longer felt like coincidences. Each discovery led somewhere darker. Somewhere I didn't want to go. Somewhere I still wasn't entirely willing to believe. Which was why I entered the strategy meeting determined to focus on facts.
Not feelings. Not suspicions. Facts. Unfortunately, facts were becoming increasingly difficult to separate from instinct. The meeting was held inside Blackridge headquarters. A large conference room filled with maps, reports, and exhausted
