Under the red lights, the guests looked like ghosts.

I stared at the glowing screen, the letters burning into my eyes.

*If you tell Vale where the journals are, you will never see his sister alive.*

My breath caught in my throat.

Adrian turned to look at me, his face pale under the emergency lights.

“Claire, what is it?” he asked.

Adrian asked again, his hand tightening on my arm.

I handed him the phone.

The red emergency light made the screen look washed out, but the words were clear.

Adrian read the message, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.

“My sister,” he whispered.

His eyes met mine, cold and dark.

“We have to go,” I said, my voice barely audible over the din of panic in the ballroom.

Around us, security guards were trying to guide the wealthy guests toward the emergency exits.

Sienna was still weeping by the melted ice sculpture, surrounded by a small crowd of onlookers.

We slipped past them, moving toward the service stairs that Grant had used moments before.