Chapter 37 The Fallout

• Isolde stood at the window of the lakeside safehouse, watching smoke rise in the distance not from Paris, not anymore, but from her memory. The lake outside shimmered beneath the pale, frozen morning. In her hands: a tablet displaying live news coverage. Every major channel was airing the same thing.
• VELVET BURNS: ELITE SEX CLUB IMPLICATED IN GLOBAL HUMAN TRAFFICKING RING.
• Photos of the Paris theatre engulfed in flames, close-up clips of masks scattered like fallen leaves, and blurred images of familiar faces she’d seen inside the club, now displayed like war criminals. Names whispered before were now printed in bold type: Dominic Wade. Kara Langston. Quentin Arlowe.