It didn't make sense.
Standing before the crumbled remains of what was once the Ministry's eastern headquarters, I felt an itch beneath my ribs that wasn't just from the stitching. No one in power let a building like that fall without a press release. And the silence? That was too loud. Too deliberate.
My thoughts spun in half a dozen directions at once, each one scraping against the back of my skull like claws.
I could call Camille.
She had reach, fashion-world clout, and she was a media darling. But it was best that I don't ask for her help. The rumor was still floating around that she'd helped members of the Masked Syndicate. They weren't wrong. Though ever since the interview, she had less heat on her back, especially with how trending Darius' affair was, but even a whisper of association could bring her crashing down.
No. Couldn't risk dragging her into this.
Besides, I had other tools.
