The Cartel didn’t do open invites.
And they definitely didn’t do midnight meetings in iconic locations like villains in a bad movie.
But then again, everything about this year at Daxton was starting to feel like it was written by someone with a flair for drama and a vendetta against normalcy.
Sonia climbed the last spiral step of the clock tower, boots scuffing against the worn stone, breath caught somewhere between adrenaline and disbelief.
The bell above her groaned like it hadn’t been touched in years.
Good. If it rang, someone would probably die from the heart attack.
At the top platform, she found three people already waiting in the half-lit circle cast by lanterns and moonlight.
Cleo Morvain, Atlas Ling and of course Eric.
“What is he doing here?” she asked immediately, alrea
