Ravenclaw Merch Novels & Stories

“Glass breaks. I bend.” His lips twitched. “Noted.” We reached the square again just as Crowe stepped back up to the mic. Apparently, one performance wasn’t enough. This time, the Tribunal banner was flanked by two smaller standards: one with a stylized wolf head—Nightmoor’s crest. The other was older, more faded, and made my stomach clench. Dravenne colors. Calista stood closer to Crowe now, almost at his elbow. Her coat had a new pin at the lapel—a small silver symbol I didn’t recognize, but that looked very official.

“Bring the Black Coast shipment codes, the account access, and every fucking file you stole.” A sob caught painfully in my throat. What the hell were they talking about? “I swear I don’t know anything,” I whispered desperately. “I don’t even know who Ravens is.” One of the men barked out a laugh. “Damn. She really clueless.” “Not our fucking problem,” another muttered. The gun pressed harder into my skin and my breathing immediately turned shaky again. “You hear that, Ravens?” the man said into the phone. “Fourteen hours before we paint the floor with her brains.”