Midnight at the Magnolia (Venom and Virtue #1)

12. Celeste

12

CELESTE

LOUISIANA DAILY

Breaking: Viper kills prominent defense attorney. Evidence suggests killer may be woman. “Grace and precision in every move,” says security expert.

The morning rush at the Magnolia Diner swirls around me, a symphony of clattering dishes and sizzling griddles that barely penetrates the fog of my thoughts. Rich coffee mingles with sweet maple syrup and savory bacon, the scents layering like ingredients in one of Grandma’s protection sachets. But today, even these familiar comfort smells do little to soothe the storm brewing in my mind.

“Morning reveals what night conceals,” Grandma used to say, crushing herbs in her mortar while teaching me to read the day’s omens. This morning feels heavy with portent, the air thick with more than just cooking grease and chicory.

I move on autopilot, the worn linoleum floor creaking softly beneath my sensible shoes as I refill coffee cups and take orders, a dance I’ve perfected over years of hiding in plain sight. My fingers absently trace the scar behind my ear—a tell Grandma always warned me about. But some mornings, I need the anchor of it, the reminder of why I’m here.

The diner’s rhythm is as familiar to me now as the cycle of moon phases Grandma taught me to follow. Mrs. Chen wants her eggs over easy, Mr. Baptiste takes his grits with extra butter, and the tourists... well, they’re as predictable as spring jasmine blooming. I catalog each patron with the same attention I once gave to sorting herbs: helpful, harmful, or merely taking up space.

As the early morning light gradually brightens, filtering through the slightly grimy windows like Spanish moss through cypress trees, the bell above the door chimes. The sound splits the air like night-blooming cereus suddenly snapping shut, and I look up, my hand freezing mid-pour as I see who has just walked in. The hot coffee overflows, scalding my fingers, but I barely notice. My blood runs cold, ice flooding my veins and settling in the pit of my stomach.

Alex .

Grandma’s voice echoes in my head: “Danger doesn’t always smell like death cap mushrooms, child. Sometimes it wears cologne and carries a briefcase.”

If only she’d warned me about the dangers that taste like honey and burn like oleander.

He looks different from the last time I saw him, five years ago. Different from that night I’d left him for dead, the taste of his kiss still bitter on my lips as nightshade bloomed in his veins. His once-lanky frame has filled out, the fabric of his expensive suit stretched taut across broad shoulders. A neatly trimmed beard now covers his jawline, the dark hair peppered with silver that wasn’t there when my fingers used to trace its edge. But those piercing green eyes are unmistakable, cutting through the diner’s warm atmosphere like shards of ice. Eyes I once drowned in, before I learned that some waters run poisonous.

Our gazes lock, and I see the moment of recognition flash across his face. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his lips, revealing teeth that seem too white, too sharp. A wolf in my den, wearing the face of a man I once loved. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a caged bird desperate for escape.

“Well, well,” he drawls, sliding onto a stool at the counter. The leather of his shoes squeaks against the metal footrest, a jarring note in the diner’s symphony. His voice still carries that hint of danger wrapped in velvet that used to make my skin tingle. “If it isn’t little Celeste Deveraux. Or should I say, Sarah’s avenging angel?”

The mention of Sarah’s name sends a jolt through me, memories flooding back unbidden.

Sarah’s laugh, bright and carefree.

The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

The hollow look in those same eyes as the life faded from them, her body broken and discarded like trash.

The way Alex had held me through those first dark nights, never letting on that he’d been part of it all. I shake my head, forcing the images away. I can’t afford to lose focus now.

I set down the coffee pot with shaking hands, the hot metal burning my palm. Like the burn of his last kiss, the one I thought would be fatal. I force a neutral expression, even as bile rises in my throat. My mind races, searching for an escape route that doesn’t exist. Finally, I settle on deflection, injecting a lightness into my voice that I don’t feel.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The lie tastes like the herbs I’d once slipped into his whiskey. “Though I have to say, if I had an avenging angel for a doppelganger, my tips might improve.”

Alex leans forward, his voice low, intimate in a way that makes my skin remember things it shouldn’t. The scent of his cologne—expensive and cloying—washes over me, making my stomach churn with memory as much as revulsion. “Cut the act, Cel. We both know who you are.” His fingers drum once on the counter, a pattern we once used as a signal. “Question is, does anyone else here know? Does your FBI agent know what those pretty hands of yours are capable of?”

I glance around nervously, the cheerful chatter of the diner patrons suddenly seeming sinister. I’m relieved to see that no one is paying attention to our exchange, too engrossed in their own conversations and meals. Just like that night in Chicago when everyone had been too busy with their dinners to notice him slipping something into my wine. “What do you want, Alex?”

He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. The soft rustle of his silk shirt seems unnaturally loud in my heightened state of awareness. “Just catching up with an old friend. It’s been what, five years since you disappeared? Left me for dead in that hotel room?” His tone is conversational, but his eyes glitter with something darker. “Left a lot of people wondering what happened to you.”

The threat in his words is clear, each syllable landing like a physical blow. I take a deep breath, the scent of grease and coffee suddenly cloying.

Grandma’s voice whispers in my memory: “When the cobra rises to strike, that’s when you know you’ve already stepped too close.”

“If you’re going to threaten me, Alex, at least have the decency to do it where my customers can’t hear.” My voice drops lower, a dangerous edge creeping in. “Or have you forgotten how good I am at making things look like accidents?”

I lead Alex to the small office at the back of the diner, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. The chatter of the diner fades as we move further back, replaced by the low hum of the refrigeration units. Each step feels like déjà vu—how many times had we walked side by side into danger, neither quite trusting the other even then?

How has he found me?

What does he want?

And most importantly, how many times do I have to kill this man before he stays dead?

As soon as the door closes behind us with a soft click, I whirl on him. The small space seems to shrink further, Alex’s presence filling every corner. His scent—that damned cologne mixed with something uniquely him that still haunts my dreams—makes the room feel even smaller. “Spill it, Alex. What’s your game?”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, the light glinting off his expensive watch—the same one I’d given him the night before I’d tried to kill him. “Easy, tiger. Still so quick to bare your claws.” His smile turns predatory. “That’s what I always loved about you. Well, one of the things.”

I feel a chill run down my spine, goosebumps rising on my arms despite the stuffy warmth of the small office.

Like Grandma always said, “Your body knows danger before your mind catches up — just like night-blooming jasmine knows when to close its petals.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but my hand instinctively moves to the small vial I keep in my pocket. White snakeroot this time—faster than nightshade, harder to trace.

Alex’s smile turns predatory, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “No? Well, maybe I should have a chat with that FBI agent who’s been sniffing around. I’m sure he’d be very interested in what I have to say.” He steps closer, too close, the way he used to when he wanted to make a point. Or before he’d kiss me. “About Chicago. About us. About how good you are at making people... disappear.”

Before I can respond, a knock at the door makes us both jump. The sound echoes in the small space, sharp and startling. Like nightshade berries dropping into a metal bowl—a sound I know too well.

“Celeste? You in there?”

Ethan . My heart leaps into my throat, its frantic rhythm choking me. The irony would be delicious if it weren’t so terrifying—the two men I’ve kissed with lips stained by poison, separated by only a thin wooden door.

I shoot Alex a warning glare before opening the door. The cooler air from the hallway rushes in, a welcome relief from the stifling tension of the office. “Ethan, hi. I was just, uh, helping a customer with a complaint.”

Ethan’s eyes dart between me and Alex, his brow furrowing. The scent of his familiar cologne—a mix of sandalwood and citrus—wafts in, clashing with Alex’s more aggressive scent. Like foxglove trying to bloom in a bed of oleander. “Everything okay here?”

Alex steps forward, extending his hand, and my stomach lurches. The movement sends another wave of his cologne washing over us, and for a moment I’m back in that Chicago hotel room, watching him fall, thinking I’d finally freed myself. “Alex Durand. Old friend of Celeste’s.” His smile is all teeth. “And you must be the famous Agent Blake I’ve been hearing so much about.”

I watch in horror as Ethan shakes Alex’s hand.

Grandma’s words echo in my head: “When two predators circle, best make sure you’re not standing between them.”

The sound of their palms meeting seems unnaturally loud in the small space. “Old friend, huh? Celeste hasn’t mentioned any old friends. Funny, that.”

“Oh, Celeste and I go way back,” Alex says, his tone casual but his eyes gleaming with mischief. He places a hand on my shoulder, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my uniform like the poison I’d once traced across his skin. “We’ve been through a lot together. Haven’t we, Cel? Life and death situations, you might say.”

I force a laugh, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. My mouth is dry, making it difficult to speak. Grandma would say I’m like cattail fluff in a storm—scattered, desperate to find solid ground. “Alex exaggerates. We knew each other briefly, years ago.”

“Briefly?” Alex raises an eyebrow. His fingers tighten on my shoulder, the pressure just shy of painful. A reminder of other marks he’s left on my skin. “I’d say those three years were pretty intense. Especially after what happened to your sis?—”

“Alex!” I cut him off sharply, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure they can both hear it. The taste of fear, metallic and bitter, floods my mouth. Like the taste of wild mushrooms when you’re not quite sure if you’ve identified them correctly. “I’m sure Agent Blake doesn’t need to hear about ancient history.”

But the damage is done. I can see the wheels turning in Ethan’s mind, his investigator instincts kicking into high gear. His posture shifts subtly, becoming more alert, more focused. Like a hound catching a scent—and oh, what a scent there is to catch, if he only knew.

The blood under my fingernails.

The poison in my kisses.

The bodies in my wake.

“Actually,” Ethan says slowly, his eyes never leaving my face, “I’d love to hear more about Celeste’s past. She’s been pretty tight-lipped about it.”

I feel the walls closing in around me, the small office suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The hum of the refrigeration units seems to grow louder, drowning out everything else.

Grandma’s voice whispers in my head: “When you’re caught between the cobra and the mongoose, sometimes the only way out is through.”

But then, a strange calm settles over me, like the stillness after drinking jimsonweed tea.

Grandma’s lessons surface in my mind: “The most poisonous plants often have the sweetest flowers, child. Use that. Let them see the bloom, not the thorns.”

“You know what?” I say, plastering on a smile that feels as artificial as Alex’s cologne. “I suppose I’m overdue for a walk down memory lane, however unpleasant.”

As we make our way back to the diner, the noise and smells hitting us like a wall, my mind races with possibilities. Like sorting herbs in Grandma’s workroom—separate the harmless from the lethal, control the mixture, control the outcome. I need to give Ethan just enough truth to satisfy him without revealing the nightshade hidden among the sage.

We settle into a booth, the vinyl seats squeaking beneath us. I can feel the weight of both men’s gazes on me, heavy and suffocating. Alex’s eyes hold the heat of old flames and bitter promises, while Ethan’s carry the sharp edge of professional curiosity mixed with something deeper, more dangerous. Something that makes my chest ache in ways Alex’s touch never did.

Ethan leans forward, his elbows on the table. “So, Alex, you said you and Celeste go way back. How did you two meet?”

I hold my breath, waiting for Alex’s response. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, savoring the moment like he used to savor watching me work, mixing poisons in his underground lab. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a tightening coil in my chest.

“Oh, it’s quite a story,” Alex drawls, his eyes never leaving my face. They’re full of dark promises—or maybe dark warnings. “We met at a support group, didn’t we, Cel?”

I nod stiffly, the motion feeling mechanical. Like a marionette whose strings are being pulled by competing puppeteers. “Yes, that’s right. For siblings of crime victims.”

Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. “Crime victims? Celeste, your sister Sarah right?”

My fingers find the scar behind my ear, tracing its familiar pattern.

Grandma’s voice whispers: “Every scar tells a story, child. The trick is making sure you’re the one telling it.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” I cut in quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My hands tremble as I pour more coffee, droplets splashing onto the table like drops of blood in the bayou. “My sister, Sarah... she was killed when I was eighteen.”

A flash of genuine sympathy crosses Ethan’s face, softening his features. “I’m so sorry, Celeste. I recall you telling me about her.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. For a moment, I want nothing more than to tell him everything, to unburden myself of the weight I’ve been carrying for so long. To explain how Sarah’s death led me to Alex, to training, to becoming the kind of woman who knows fourteen different ways to stop a heart without leaving a trace.

But I can’t. Some poisons, once released, can never be contained again.

Alex leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. Like a cat that’s caught a particularly interesting mouse. “Celeste here was quite the firebrand back then. Always talking about justice, about making things right.” His eyes glitter with hidden meaning. “She had quite the talent for... creative solutions.”

I feel my heart rate quicken, the blood rushing in my ears like the sound of the bayou at midnight. “We were all angry and hurting. It was a difficult time.”

Grandma’s words come back to me: “Grief makes monsters of us all, child. The trick is choosing what kind of monster you become.”

“Difficult?” Alex chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves like dried belladonna leaves being crushed. “That’s an understatement. Remember that night we broke into the courthouse, looking for files on Sarah’s case? The way you moved through those halls like a shadow...” His voice drops lower, intimate. “That’s when I knew you were special.”

Ethan’s head snaps up, his eyes widening. “You did what?”

I force a laugh, trying to sound dismissive even as panic claws at my throat. Like kudzu vines choking a tree. “Alex loves to exaggerate. We didn’t break in. We... may have stayed after hours once, when I was working as a janitor. It was stupid, but we were desperate for answers.”

“Answers about what?” Ethan presses, his detective instincts clearly kicking in. I can almost see the pieces falling into place in his mind, like puzzle pieces forming a picture I can’t let him see.

I take a deep breath, centering myself the way Grandma taught me. “Start from the root,” she’d say, “and let the story grow natural-like. Too much pruning makes folks suspicious.”

“Sarah’s killer was never caught. The case went cold.” I meet Ethan’s gaze, letting him see a glimpse of the pain I usually keep hidden. This part, at least, isn’t an act - the grief for Sarah is still raw, even after all these years. “We thought... we thought maybe we could find something the police had missed.”

Alex nods, his expression somber but his eyes dancing with dark amusement. “Celeste was relentless. She wouldn’t rest until she found out the truth.” He pauses, meaningful. “Still hasn’t, have you, Cel?”

The double meaning in his words makes my fingers itch for the vial in my pocket. Grandma always said some weeds need to be pulled before they can spread their seeds. But Ethan’s presence stays my hand, like sunshine burning away morning fog.

“And did you?” Ethan asks softly, his voice gentle in a way that makes something inside me crack. “Find the truth?”

I meet his gaze, and for a moment, I see a future I can’t have. One where I’m just Celeste the waitress, where my hands aren’t stained with herb juice and blood, where I could love him without wondering if he’ll eventually put me in handcuffs.

“No,” I whisper, and it’s both truth and lie, sweet and bitter as nightshade berries. “We never did.”

A heavy silence falls over the table, thick as marsh fog at midnight. I can see Ethan processing this new information, cataloging every micro-expression, every tell.

Grandma’s voice echoes: “Even the cleverest snake leaves a trail in the grass, child. Best make sure yours leads where you want it to.”

After a moment, Alex speaks up again, his voice cutting through the tension like a well-honed blade. “So, Agent Blake, how did you and our Celeste here meet? Somehow I doubt it was over coffee and pie at this charming establishment.” The way he says our Celeste makes my skin crawl, a reminder of when I was his in more ways than one.

Ethan’s eyes meet mine, a hint of warmth returning to them. The look makes my heart flutter, despite the danger of the situation. Like the first time Grandma showed me how beautiful deadly nightshade could be in bloom. “Actually, it was. I came in for a late-night coffee and Celeste... well, she made quite an impression.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck, remembering our first encounter. The memory of that night—the spark between us, the way Ethan had looked at me—is a bright spot in the darkness of my world. Clean and pure, unlike the toxic romance Alex and I had shared. “Ethan was working a tough case. He looked like he needed more than just coffee.”

“Oh?” Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, his tone dripping with innuendo. His fingers tap a familiar pattern on the table—our old code for danger approaching. “And what else did our dear Celeste provide? She’s always been so... helpful to law enforcement. Haven’t you, love?”

The implication in his words makes my skin crawl. Like the time I’d accidentally brushed against poison ivy while harvesting moonflower. I open my mouth to retort, but Ethan beats me to it.

“A friendly ear,” he says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He shifts slightly, almost imperceptibly positioning himself between me and Alex. The protective gesture makes something in my chest twist. If he only knew he was trying to protect a viper from another viper. “And some surprisingly insightful advice about the local area. Celeste has been invaluable to my investigation.”

The warmth in Ethan’s voice, the way he defends me without hesitation, makes something inside me ache.

“Some plants grow toward the sun,” Grandma would say, “even when they know the light will burn them.” It’s a reminder of what I could have, if only my past would stay buried where I left it.

Along with Alex’s supposed corpse.

Alex’s smile turns predatory, his eyes glinting with malice. “I’m sure she has. Our Celeste always did have a knack for... inserting herself into interesting situations. Particularly with law enforcement.” He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Did she ever tell you about her time in Chicago, Agent Blake? Now that was an interesting situation.”

The mention of Chicago makes my blood freeze. I grip my coffee mug tightly, my knuckles turning white with the effort of keeping my composure. The memory of that hotel room, of Alex’s body hitting the floor, of the kiss that should have killed him—it all comes rushing back like flood waters breaking through a levy.

“I just try to help where I can,” I interject, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside. “This city... it’s been good to me. I want to give back.”

Grandma’s words surface: “The most dangerous garden looks just like any other, until you know what to look for.”

“How noble,” Alex drawls, sarcasm dripping from every word like dewdrops from angel’s trumpet. “Such a change from the angry young woman I knew. Tell me, Celeste, does Agent Blake here know about the time you?—”

“I think that’s enough reminiscing for one day,” I cut in sharply, my voice tight with barely contained anger. Like oleander in full bloom: beautiful, deadly, and impossible to contain. “Some stories are better left in the past, don’t you think, Alex?”

Our eyes lock in a silent battle of wills.

Five years ago, I’d watched those same eyes glaze over as my poison took hold. Yet here he sits, very much alive, a ghost come back to haunt me. The air between us crackles with tension, thick enough to cut with the knife hidden in my boot.

“If you say so, Cel.” Alex shrugs, but the glint in his eyes tells me this is far from over. “But you know what they say about the past... it has a way of catching up with you. Like vines creeping up a wall, wouldn’t you agree?”

The reference to Grandma’s teachings—her warnings about invasive species and the damage they can do—isn’t lost on me. The threat in his words is clear, sending a chill down my spine. I feel Ethan tense beside me, his investigator’s instincts clearly picking up on the undercurrent of danger.

“Well,” Ethan says, his tone deceptively casual, “it seems like you two have a lot of catching up to do. Maybe we could continue this another time? I’d love to hear more about your... shared history.”

I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Of course. Maybe over dinner sometime?” The words taste like ash on my tongue, but I need to keep him close. Keep him safe.

As if on cue, Ethan’s phone buzzes. He checks it, frowning. “I’ve got to go. Duty calls.” He stands, his gaze lingering on me. The intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch – there’s something there, something that makes me want to risk everything and tell him the truth. “This was... enlightening. Thanks for sharing, Celeste. Alex, it was interesting meeting you.”

Grandma’s lessons echo in my mind: “The deadliest predators don’t need to bare their fangs to show their intent.”

As soon as Ethan is out of earshot, I turn to Alex, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Alex leans back, a smug smile on his face. “Just having a bit of fun. But now that we’re alone, let’s talk business.” He adjusts his tie—another old signal between us, this one meaning time to hunt. “You didn’t think Chicago would stay buried forever, did you?”

I feel a chill run down my spine. Whatever sick game Alex is playing, the stakes have just skyrocketed. As I stare into his cold, calculating eyes, I realize that the carefully constructed life I’ve built is balancing on a knife’s edge. One wrong move, and everything will come crashing down.

But I’ll be damned if I let Alex destroy what I’ve worked so hard to create. I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun and walked away. I’ve mixed poisons that would make the devil himself think twice. Alex is just another obstacle to overcome, another secret to bury.

And if I have to bury him again, this time I’ll make sure he stays dead.

“Fine, Alex,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my gut. “Spit it out. What’s your angle here?”

Alex’s smile widens, a predator sensing weakness. “Not here, Cel. Too many prying eyes and ears. Let’s meet somewhere more... private.”

The trap is set, and like a fool, I’m walking right into it. But what choice do I have? “Fine. Where and when?”

“The old warehouse on the docks. 10 PM tonight.” Alex stands, adjusting his expensive suit. The movement wafts another wave of his overpowering cologne towards me, a scent that will haunt my nightmares. “Don’t be late. And come alone. We wouldn’t want your FBI boyfriend getting curious, would we?”

As he saunters out of the diner, the bell chiming his departure like a death knell, I let out a shaky breath. The diner suddenly feels too loud, too bright, the normality of it all a stark contrast to the darkness brewing beneath the surface.

Grandma’s final lesson rings in my ears: “Remember, child, when you dance with devils, make sure you know which one’s leading.”

Looking at the door where both Alex and Ethan had disappeared, I wonder if I’ve forgotten the steps to this particular dance.

Tonight will end one of two ways: with Alex truly dead, or with every secret I’ve buried coming to light. Either way, blood will water the garden of my sins, and I can only pray that when it blooms, Ethan won’t be close enough to catch the scent.

The clock ticks toward destiny, each second a reminder that in New Orleans, the past never stays buried—it just ferments like the roots of the poisonous plants I tend, growing stronger in the dark until it’s ready to strike.

And as the last customer leaves and I prepare to close up the diner, I feel a familiar calm settle over me. The calm before the storm. Whatever happens tonight, whatever truths are revealed or lies unraveled, I will face it head-on.

Because that’s what Sarah would have done.

And in the end, everything I do is for her. Her memory, her justice, her vengeance. The love I’ve lost, the innocence that has been shattered—it all comes down to this moment.

I lock the diner door, the click of the bolt sounding like a gunshot in the quiet night. It’s time. Alex is waiting, and with him, the ghosts of my past.

But I’m not that scared, broken girl anymore.

As I step into the darkness, Sarah’s memory burns bright in my mind. But for the first time, I wonder if the price of vengeance might be too high.

If I lose Ethan because of this, will it all be worth it?

The thought lingers as I make my way towards the docks, towards Alex, towards a confrontation that has been years in the making. The night air is thick with tension and possibility, and I can feel the weight of my choices pressing down on me with each step.

And as I step onto the dock, the cold wind whipping through my hair, I know Alex isn’t here. And he never intended to show up.

My stomach twists as I look out over the water, the moonlight dancing on the ripples like shattered glass.

Nothing. Not a soul. Not a sound.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. This isn’t a meeting—it’s a message. Alex is playing with me, showing me that he can manipulate me, that he holds the strings. The anger that rises within me is hot and fierce, a stark contrast to the chill of the night air.

I scan the area, my senses on high alert. Every shadow could be a threat, every sound a potential ambush. But there’s nothing. Just the creaking of the old dock beneath my feet and the distant cry of a gull.

As I stand there, the wind tugging at my clothes like ghostly fingers, I feel exposed. Vulnerable . It’s a feeling I haven’t allowed myself in years, and I hate it. I hate Alex for making me feel this way. For dragging me back into a past I’ve tried so hard to bury.

But beneath the anger and fear, there’s something else. A realization that sends a chill down my spine. If Alex didn’t show up here, where is he?

What’s his real plan?

My mind races, piecing together the events of the day. Alex’s appearance at the diner. His veiled threats. The way he looked at Ethan...

Ethan .

My blood runs cold as the pieces fall into place. This was never about me. It was about Ethan. About drawing him into this twisted game.

I spin on my heel, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I need to get to Ethan. Now. Before Alex can spring whatever trap he’s set.

As I race back towards the city, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the empty warehouses, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m running out of time. The web I’ve woven is unraveling, the threads of my carefully constructed life coming apart at the seams.

But I won’t let it all fall apart. Not now. Not when I’m so close to achieving everything I’ve worked for. I’ll find a way to save Ethan, to keep my secrets, to finish what I started all those years ago.

Because in the end, that’s who I am. I’m not just Celeste the waitress or Sarah’s avenging angel. I’m a survivor. A fighter. And I’ll be damned if I let Alex or anyone else take that away from me.

The city looms before me, a maze of shadows and secrets. Somewhere in those streets, Ethan is in danger. And I’m the only one who can save him. The irony isn’t lost on me—the vigilante turning hero.

But for Ethan, I’ll be whatever I need to be.