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We arrived in New Orleans at midnight.
Driving from the airport to the French Quarter, the air grew thick and sweet—a mix of jasmine, fried food, and something much older, as if the city itself was breathing.
“Are you sure about this?” Julian asked, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tightly gripping mine. “We could go back to New York, let the Blackwoods deal with their own mess.”
I looked out the window at the neon lights. “If Sophia is really performing some dark ritual, Liam won’t be the only one who gets hurt.”
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