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“What about Sylvie?” I ask Baptiste, reaching out to hold his trembling hand. “Where is she? Is she okay? Have you talked to her?”

He shakes his head.

“I haven’t seen her. She was at work when we found out. We’ve only had a quick call. She’s shattered, but she’s on her way to the mansion as we speak.”

No matter what happens with the boys and the Castaways, I’ll be there for her when she arrives.

My next thought is of Father. He’s never been one to be afraid, but with the murder of the Supreme Elder of the Castaways, nothing is safe now. Nothing is sacred.

The killer has struck at the heart of the Order. And the Castaways might fall.

Whatever that means, I still can’t figure it out. I worry about the men in this car.

Are we going to be okay?

Are Fabien and Clement still going to try to kill each other?

* * *

We finally pull up at the mansion, and my heart is pounding. The headquarters of the Castaways looms above us in all its Gothic grandeur. Stone gargoyles glare at us from up high.

There are guards crawling all over the place. There are spotlights roaming the grounds. I see guns. I hear radios crackle.

Practically an army surrounds this joint, and yet I still don’t feel secure in the slightest. If the Masked Killer can get to Elwood, then none of us is okay.

We climb out of the car and head toward the tall front doors of the main building.

I lean toward my brother when I get the chance.

“Clement. I still need you.”

It’s only for his ears. But my brother turns away. He has no words for me.

And that stings.

But I can’t dwell on it for too long. A guard steps forward with his hand raised toward Fabien, stopping him in his tracks. Of course, Fabien’s not technically a member of the Castaways yet. He can’t pass through those doors, even when it’s an emergency meeting.

“He’s my guest here today,” Baptiste sternly informs the guard. “I have the authority.”

There’s a nod. Fabien can go through.

“I’m not going in without her,” Fabien says, gesturing at me.

“You know the rules,” Baptiste replies coldly. “Men only from this point.”

“Screw this,” I say.

Yes, I know there was no chance a woman would be admitted, but it still doesn’t dull my damn anger.

“I’m sorry, Jolie,” Baptiste mutters. “It’s the Castaways.”

“This fucking boys’ club,” I snap back.

Yet again, this institution blocks me. It’s another time in my life where I lose control thanks to this secret society.

“I’ll stay, then,” Fabien says defiantly. “With her.”

I take my man’s hand.