The Tailor Who Stitched the Truth for the King of the Underworld
“I don’t know where they are,” I said.
“You will find them,” Killian said.
“Because if you don’t, I will have to come in there and get them myself.”
“And I don’t think you want to see what happens to your shop when I do.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Aries trusted you.”
“Aries is a relic,” Killian said.
“He thinks he can control everything with silence.”
“But the world is loud, Sienna.”
“And it’s getting louder.”
The line went dead.
I stood there, the receiver still pressed to my ear.
The silence of the shop felt different now.
It felt heavy, dangerous, like a trap.
I turned toward the basement stairs to call Aries.
But before I could take a step, the front door of the atelier rattled.
Someone was turning the brass handle from the outside.
The lock clicked.
The door began to slide open, letting in a draft of cold, wet air.
I froze, my hand clutching the blue silk.
The shadow that fell across the threshold was too wide to be Aries.
Before I could scream, a heavy, wet hand slammed over my mouth.