Alina sat in the heavy silence of the car, her legs dangling outside the open door, her shoes barely brushing the pavement.
Aizen had left the door ajar when they pulled up to the sprawling, opulent mansion in a prestigious corner of Los Angeles, but the luxury did nothing to soothe her. She remained paralyzed, her body still humming with the residual numbness of the trauma she had just endured.
From the brightly illuminated, floor-to-ceiling windows of the estate, Alina could see silhouettes moving within. There was more than one person inside, but no one had bothered to brief her.
Since their arrival, she had been left in a vacuum of information, a ghost waiting for a command that wouldn't come.
Meanwhile, the digital world was screaming. Damian's confession—the video that had shattered the internet—kept nipping at the back of her mind like a persistent fever.
