Luna By Blackmail
Beneath it, in silver font:
In Loving Memory of Zara Monroe
1998–2025
The crowd turned as the doors opened, the music stopped, and I heard hundreds of voices all at once
One by one, heads swiveled.
A woman in a black dress. Red lipstick. Alive. It took Ethan less than three seconds to see me. His flute hit the floor and shattered.
I held his gaze as I walked in, uninvited, unbothered. I didn’t stop for anyone.
Jade was next. Her face went white, fingers gripping her clutch so hard her knuckles turned red. She looked like she wanted to faint. Or run.