Ella
As we exited the mansion, the gravel crunched underfoot, the sound reverberating in the otherwise silent evening. Logan led the way, his long strides confident and unhurried.
We approached a sleek black car with tinted windows. Its polished surface mirrored the moon’s glow, casting eerie reflections of our figures.
“Get in,” he instructed, not a command so much as a casual suggestion. But his clear blue eyes told a different story. They were always watching, assessing.
I hesitated, eyeing the vehicle and then him.
“Where are we going?” My voice carried a hint of defiance, a touch of the suspicion I felt. Logan had an unpredictable streak that made him intriguing, but also undeniably dangerous.
“To eat,” he replied nonchalantly, as though it was the most obvious
