Twenty Four Hours Earlier
The moment the taxi carrying Eloise and Edward disappeared into the churning, uncaring maw of city traffic, Jayla White let herself breathe.
It wasn't the breath of relief—no, relief was a luxury reserved for those whose battles were over. This was the breath of an engine priming itself. It was the sharp, steady rhythm of a plan shifting from theory into cold, hard motion.
She stood on the curb for a second longer than necessary, watching the space where the car had been. She stared as if her gaze alone could weave a protective shroud around them, bending fate until they were invisible to the wolves.
The city swallowed them whole—a symphony of screeching steel, neon glare, and kinetic energy. To anyone else, it was just morning. To Jayla, it was the start of a gamble where the stakes were measured in blood.
