SUMMER'S POV
I didn't tell anyone I was leaving.
Not Kingsley, still asleep with Clyde curled up somewhere in his room. Not George, snoring on the couch with the ledger still clutched against his chest like it might grow legs and walk off. Not even Felix, who'd apparently want to rigg some kind of tracker for me that I hadn't agreed to wear yet. I just grabbed my coat, slipped out the back door, and let the cold morning air clear my head enough to think straight.
The club looked different in daylight — smaller, almost pitiful, its neon sign dark and lifeless against the gray sky. I hadn't slept. My whole body ran on nothing but adrenaline and a single, burning question: why me?
The door was unlocked when I got there, which should have told me something.
"Summer." Mr. Roberts' voice
