Nora's POV
The rooftop terrace at James's Mark Park house provides the perfect sanctuary for my attempt at spiritual communication. I settle into a comfortable position and let my eyelids drift closed. "Shane," I whisper, pressing my palms together in prayer. "I need to hear from you. Please. And meeting my father would mean everything to me."
Traffic hums below while the neighbors host what sounds like a lively gathering. Their music and animated conversations keep breaking my concentration.
My eyes snap open as paranoia creeps in. After the recent assassination attempt, every shadow feels threatening. My three familiars patrol the roof's edge like supernatural sentries, their vigilant presence both comforting and necessary.
