Pawn of Fate
Orion Steele
I muttered, tugging at the hem of the impossibly short dress Mary had squeezed me into.
The fabric shimmered under the streetlights, catching every neon reflection like an oil slick.
Mary swatted my hand away. "You look hot, Em. Own it."
We stood in line outside Club Enigma, the bass from inside thrumming through the sidewalk.
The club's facade was sleek black marble, no windows, just a single steel door guarded by a mountain of a man holding a tablet.
"I feel like I'm auditioning for a part in a bad spy movie," I grumbled, fidgeting with the ornate mask Mary had tied around my eyes. "What's with the masks, anyway?"
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