Nora's POV
Being punctual is irritating enough, but arriving without warning crosses the line into plain rudeness. I mutter under my breath, frustration building in my chest. This entire situation has spiraled beyond my control, and losing the advantage makes anxiety twist through my gut like a knife.
Winston shifts beside me, his ancient eyes scanning the room. "What happens next?" he asks, and James fixes me with that pointed stare I know too well. The message comes through crystal clear. He's furious with me. The knowledge sends a sharp pain through my stomach, but I can't afford to deal with his anger right now.
There's an actual demon standing outside our locked front door, wearing some poor soul's corpse like borrowed clothing.
