EMMA
The evening had started beautifully. The hall glimmered with a hundred tiny lights, the decorations I had spent days perfecting sparkling against the polished wood floors. Laughter floated through the air as members of the Lune Noire MC mingled with the invited guests, champagne flutes clinking. I felt a little flutter of pride every time someone complimented the arrangements, and even more when Clara shot me a conspiratorial grin that said, See? Told you she was good.
I had been straightening candles near the entrance when a sharp gust of wind rattled the French windows. I glanced outside. The storm that had been brewing all day was arriving sooner than expected, snow swirling furiously, gusts bending the skeletal trees outside. The lights flickered once. Twice. Then darkness swall
