Page 52 of The Devil's Thorn
I don’t know what. I don’t know when. But something is going to shift.
And we’re already past the point of turning back.
The drive doesn’t take long, but every minute that ticks by, the weight in my chest coils tighter.
When we pull into the underground lot beneath Hotel Obshor, the usual security scans our plates and waves us through. Kellan parks in the same space as always, and I step out before either of them can open my door.
The cold air wraps around my ankles, biting at my skin beneath the hem of my skirt.
Ash moves beside me, brushing invisible lint off my shoulder. “Be careful.”
I nod.
Kellan leans against the hood of the car, arms crossed. “You’ve got your mic?”
I tap my ear once.
“I’m not saying anything unless I have to,” I tell them.
“You won’t have to,” Kellan says. “Unless it goes wrong.”
“It won’t.”
But I’m not sure I believe that anymore.
I walk through the back entrance of the hotel, my heels silent against the smooth marble floor. I pass by a few familiar faces—staff members I’ve seen in passing, never long enough to remember their names.
They don’t stop me.
No one ever does anymore.
I know the route. I know the layout. I know how long it takes to get from the hallway to the casino doors without anyone seeing you hesitate.
And I don’t.
But the second I push through the doors of the casino— the noise hits. Music. Laughter. The faint hum of money being lost and power being played with like it’s nothing more than a card on a table.
But even through the sound—I feel it.
The shift.
Something is different tonight.
The lights are lower. Golden. Muted. Like the room is trying to seduce every secret out of the people inside it.
The casino is full, but quieter than usual—like everyone here knows they aren’t just here to play. They’re here towatch.
Tolisten.
To be seen without ever being named.
I move through it like I belong—because by now, I do.
My heels barely make a sound against the velvet-trimmed floors. The uniform clings to me in the right places, not revealing, just sharp. Intentional.
Eyes follow.
They always do.
