Page 130 of Black Reign

I force my feet forward.

Then Drew's voice carries across the terrace.

“Miss London Bridge.”

Everything inside me stops.

No one at this wedding should know that name.

No one except Ghost.

And Ghost's friends.

Drew turns back toward Xavier.

Toward him.

My fingers go numb around the tray.

No.

It can't be.

I stare at Xavier Blackwell.

Dark hair.

Six-three.

Custom tuxedo.

Jaw tight enough to crack stone.

Scotch in one hand.

A secure device in the other.

The same device receiving my photograph through NULL.

Ghost.

My Ghost.

Xavier Blackwell.

For a second, I hear nothing.

Not music.

Not staff.

Not ocean.

My own pulse seems to fill the entire terrace.

Every explanation I built collapses at once.

Italian.