Jack didn’t sleep that night.
The gauntlets were wrapped in cloth, resting beside the scrolls in his duffel. He sat in the dark motel room he’d found outside Harmonfield, staring at the ring now on his finger. It pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Sarah’s voice echoed in his head.
“You’re not alone in this, Jack.”
And he felt like he was.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and checked the text again.
> Don’t back out. You promised. 8 PM sharp. Wear a suit. I’ll be in red. —Sarah.
He didn’t do galas. Or estates. Or promises.
But for her? He would try.
The Thompson estate was the kind of place that belonged in magazines—limestone walls, long fountains, fairy lights coiled around iron gates. Luxury vehicles were lined like jewelry on the circular drive.
Jack stepped out of the black t
