After breakfast, Ace Kane and Lora Hale tidied up separately, then headed downstairs together.
The morning sun was already bright, washing the entrance of the residential compound in a clean, almost deceptively peaceful light.
They had barely stepped outside when they noticed a young girl—no more than eighteen or nineteen—standing conspicuously near the Audi R8.
She wasn’t just standing there.
She was posing.
First from one angle, then another. She leaned against the hood, adjusted her hair, stepped back, walked forward again, and finally set her phone on video mode. She ran a short distance away, then strolled back into frame with exaggerated casualness.
“Ugh,” she said into the camera with practiced nonchalance, “my boyfriend picked me up in this crappy car again today. It’s so ann
