Wren’s POV
I stare down at my phone, resisting the urge to punch a hole through the brick wall of my kitchen.
Can’t meet up tonight. Have to go out with the gang.
She’s avoiding specifics for my sake, but the implication is clear enough: she’s going out with Noah.
Where are you going? I text her back once I recover from the initial sting. Velvet Lounge again?
No, and you can’t come. It’d be way too dangerous.
Dangerous for who? For me? Not to get too cocky here, but I am the strongest paranormal in town at the moment, aren’t I?
Come on. I’ll play dumb. Pretend it’s a coincidence.
She doesn’t reply for several minutes. Then, finally: Fine. But you have to bring someone. Nobody plays pool by themselves.
It’s clear from that message alone where she’s going; there’s only one billiards
