Glass shattered in the background. A child wailed.

“Fifteen minutes.” I snapped the phone shut, adjusting my torn Chanel skirt with grease-blackened fingers.

Rafayel, who had just returned with Raymond, was adjusting his suit as he made his way to the driver’s seat. 

“Why do you look so pale?” Rafayel asked abruptly, his sharp eyes scanning me. 

“There’s something more urgent,” I replied quickly. “There’s been some trouble. Letitia just called you.” I handed him a few pamphlets, my tone firm. “I’ll deal with this on my own and take an Uber. You need to head to Kingsley Davis Academy.” 

I patted his shoulder, but his expression darkened. He snatched...