CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
This floor is clearly meant to be rented out for big parties, like weddings and Jubilees, but that’s not how it’s being used at the moment. Far from it.
A row of hospital beds stands where dining tables usually would. On the beds are comatose people who must be sleeping—I know because my newfound REM sleep sense can detect many of them dreaming.
Next to each bed stands an Icelus member. They’re all wearing the masks from the werewolf’s dream and holding intricately designed daggers, their attention on the podium where the wedding band would typically be.
Following their gazes, I audibly exhale.
A black-clad figure stands with his or her back to us, fiddling with an unfamiliar device.
My heartbeat skyrockets.
It’s not that hard to guess what’s happening. The figu
