I thought I heard a twig crack and whirled around. I looked back toward the outside door but I didn’t see anyone.
Fuck. Just fucking move.
I reached the hall and glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was following me, but only magnolia tree branches fluttered in the wind. I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the damn mission.
This time I was saving Mom, but no one would ever know.
Except the bastard forcing me to do this.
I slipped the first of Selena’s keys into the lock and let myself inside the hall. The door clicked shut behind me, the sound too loud in the silence.
I froze.
Footsteps. Behind me. Maybe.
I narrowed my eyes, pressing myself against the wall. Dante? Trystan? Someone who’d noticed me slip away?
I scanned the shadowed corridor, every sense on high alert.
Nothing.
No movement.
No heartbeat except my own.
Maybe I was just being paranoid. Or maybe someone was better at hiding than I was at looking.
I forced myself to move.
The last thing I wanted was a fight. I just wanted to grab the damn shard, get back to the party, and take Selena home. Pretend this night had been nothing more than a date. Pretend I wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
This fucking nightmare should be over by midnight.
Then Angelo could stuff the damn shard up his fucking ass.
According to Angelo, Julienne’s office was on the second floor. Room nineteen.
I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, my footsteps silent on the marble. The hallway stretched before me, dark and empty, moonlight filtering through tall windows.
Room nineteen. End of the hall.
I tried the second key. It didn’t fit. I tried the third. It turned with a soft click.
More footsteps.
I bared my fangs, muscles coiled to fight. But the corridor was empty. Nothing but shadows and silence.
Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe guilt was making me paranoid.
Or maybe someone was following me and I was about to get caught.
I slipped into the office and eased the door shut behind me, barely breathing.
The room was elegant—dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive desk near the window. It smelled like old paper and jasmine. Julienne’s space, through and through.
Angelo had said it was a shard. Said I would know it when I saw it. Helpful as always.
I scanned the bookshelves first, running my fingers along the spines. Leather-bound volumes, ancient texts, nothing that looked like a magical artifact. I moved around the desk, checking drawers, rifling through papers. Nothing but schedules andcorrespondence and framed photographs of Costin—smiling, serious, caught mid-laugh.
