Mordred's Pov:
The warehouse on Elm Street squatted at the edge of the industrial district like a forgotten relic—rusted metal walls and shattered windows staring out like empty eyes.
The kind of place where deals went bad and bodies vanished. I killed the bike's engine a block away, letting it coast silent into the shadows.
My head still pounded from the hangover, but adrenaline sharpened the edges, turning the throb into fuel.
Kianna's text had buzzed in just as I'd revved out of the hospital. "Anonymous is Kylie, Trent's girlfriend. The one in my dorm. She's got a grudge against you and the warehouse is a trap.Don't go in blind, call me. And please—save Lesley."
I'd stared at the screen for a beat, piecing it together. Kylie? The shy temp roommate Kianna had mentioned? Trent's girl—that buzz-cut prick. A grudge? My past was a minefield; I'd stepped on plenty of toes back in the day, but nothing clicked immediately.
