A Crown of Ashes
The cabinet creaked open—files, a flash drive, and a little glass vial, capped tight, dark red inside.
Blood. A scrap of paper stuck to it, Dorian’s scribble: Yours, Sienna. Always was.
She reeled back, the vial hitting the floor with a clatter, not breaking but loud as hell. Roman cursed, bending for it, but the lights blinked—once, twice—then went black. Night swallowed them whole, and a low laugh crawled from the stairs.
Ezra’s voice slid through the dark: “Loved the Hide and seek, Didn't you?.”
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