Chapter 12 · A Deadly Invite

“You don’t say no to him. You don’t even hesitate.”

Sloane’s hand slammed into my chest, pinning me hard against the wall.

“Okay, ow,” I wheezed. “Nice to see you too. What’s the dress code for getting executed?”

“This isn’t a joke, Julian.” Her face was two inches from mine. I could feel the heat of her breath, fast and jagged. Her eyes kept darting to the hallway, scanning for eavesdroppers. “The High Lord doesn’t invite. He summons. You walk in, you kneel, you answer. You don’t speak unless he lets you.”

“And if I don’t go?”

“Then they peel you off that wall and I get to watch.” Her fingers curled tighter into my shirt, knuckles white. She wasn't letting go. “And then they come for me.”

That shut me up.

At the end of the corridor, the messenger was waiting. Tall. Bone-white mask. Black robes that didn't stir. He hadn't blinked once. He just held out a sealed letter like I was a dog expected to fetch.

I didn't want to touch the damn thing.

“He knows,” Sloane whispered. It was so low I felt it in my marrow. “About the contract. About us. He knows everything.”

“Great.