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Zephyra's POV

The uber pulls up outside a discreet entrance nestled between two unassuming buildings in a quieter part of Manhattan. Theres no indication of the clubs presence other than a man in a tailored black suit standing outside a plain black door. Rather than the stereotypical big, burly bouncer, this guy is compact and neatly put together. The intensity with which he scrutinizes Freya and me as we approach, though, makes it clear that he knows how to take care of trouble.

Freya hands him a matte black card, which he scans with a small device he pulls out of his pocket. When he holds it out to her, she presses her thumb against it. I raise my brows, baffled at this whole secrecy thing. Not to mention the idea that my friend is a part of it.

The machine beeps, and he hands her card back. He stares down at the screen, then up at me, probably confirming my identity against the photo identification I had to provide with my details.

With a small nod, he pockets the device again. Enj