Chapter 113: Level Of Decadence

A heavy, suffocating silence hung on the other end of the line. When Catherine finally spoke again, the screeching anger had vanished, replaced by a quiet, ice-cold suspicion that was infinitely more terrifying.

“Zoey… are you two in danger?”

The question stripped the defensive posture right out of Zoey. For all of Catherine’s dramatics and nagging, she had never been the sort of friend who raised her voice merely for theatrical effect.

Beneath the frustration was a genuine, gut-deep terror, and Zoey suddenly realized her friend had spent the entire night imagining every unspeakable horror that could befall two college girls in downtown Seattle.

Zoey softened her posture, shifting against the pillows.

“No, Cathy. I am not in danger. And neither is Iris, as far as I can guarantee,” Zoey said softly, pouring absolute sincerity into every word. “We are both completely safe. Nobody kidnapped us, nobody shoved us into a van against our will, and we aren’t mixed up in some underground criminal syndicate. I promise you that on my life.”

“Then why are you being so intensely secretive?”

“Because some secrets aren’t mine to broadcast.”

“Why not?”

Zoey bit down hard on her lower lip, staring up at the intricate plasterwork on the ceiling. “Because it involves Iris’s personal life, and I refuse to say something she isn’t ready to share yet. I know how much you hate being kept in the dark, and I hate doing this to you, but please… just trust me. I will explain everything I possibly can the minute I’ve had a chance to talk to her face-to-face.”

Catherine let out a massive, rattling sigh. Zoey could practically visualize her friend standing in their messy apartment kitchen, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

Then came the precise inquiry Zoey had been praying she would somehow dodge.

“One of the girls in the unit next door intercepted me in the hallway ten minutes ago,” Catherine said, her tone hardening again. “She claimed she saw you and Iris hauling ass out of the building last night around midnight, climbing into the back of a blacked-out luxury car flanked by two towering men in bespoke suits.”

Zoey went entirely rigid, a fresh wave of irritation spiking through her chest. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Are you kidding me?”

“Do not change the subject, Zoey Brooks. She said the car looked like it belonged to a cartel boss or a tech billionaire, and she was entirely certain both of you left of your own accord. So, you are going to tell me right now why you and Iris chose the middle of the night to bail with two mysterious men in an absurdly expensive vehicle, and why neither of you has returned. Because if this is some idiotic frat-boy prank—”

Zoey stared blankly at the wall. I am officially going to murder our neighbors. They clearly possessed nothing resembling a personal life if they were sitting by their peepholes at midnight cataloging visitors.

“First of all, those nosy ghouls next door desperately need to find a hobby,” Zoey muttered darkly. “Honestly, don’t they have exams to study for? They should consider picking up knitting, volunteering at a shelter, or learning how to mind their own damn business.”

“Zoey.”

“Right. My apologies.” She cleared her throat, trying to regain her footing. “Look, Cathy, I know how wildly sketchy that sounds, but I swear it isn’t what your overactive imagination is painting. We weren’t abducted, we weren’t coerced, we are not trapped, and we certainly aren’t… you know, hooking up with random strangers.” She paused, her eyes widening slightly as she caught herself. “Well, at least I am not.”

“What was that last part?”

“I said… the men we left with are people we are acquainted with, and we are completely, perfectly secure where we are staying.”

Catherine remained utterly silent for a long, agonizing beat. “People you’re acquainted with?”

“Yes.”

“Since when do you and Iris casually roll with men who wear custom tailored suits and drive rolling bank vaults? Excluding Jason, of course—though considering the absolute circus currently playing out on the campus gossip app regarding him and Iris, I doubt that’s a road we want to walk down.”

Zoey opened her mouth, weighed the catastrophic consequences of answering honestly, and promptly closed it. “That’s… a very long sidebar.”

“Literally every word coming out of your mouth today is a sidebar, Zoey.”

“I know, I know,” Zoey groaned, burying her face in her free hand. “Just… trust me, okay? I am not alone, Iris is not alone, and we are both fine. I have morning lectures tomorrow anyway, so I will be physically back on campus, and I will see you there. As for Iris… I don’t know her precise logistical timeline yet. I have to consult with her first.”

Catherine exhaled a long, defeated breath. “You had better not be feeding me a mountain of absolute bullshit, Zoey.”

“I am not.”

A few more seconds ticked by before Catherine finally conceded, her voice losing its sharp, defensive edge.

“Fine. I will drop it for the exact next twenty-four hours. But I expect a full debriefing tomorrow morning. And if you don’t materialize at the lecture hall, I am coming to hunt you down myself. I don’t care if I have to tear through half of Seattle to do it.”

Zoey glanced around the ridiculously opulent bedroom once more. The idea of Catherine storming the gates of Blackthorne Estate demanding her release was an image so wonderfully absurd that she almost laughed out loud.

“Understood, madam investigator.”

“And another thing—I just survived a grueling cross-country flight, my lumbar spine feels like it’s been shattered into dust, and I haven’t even washed the airplane air off my skin yet. I require sustenance, a scalding hot bath, and at least six hours of uninterrupted hibernation before I possess the emotional bandwidth to deal with either of you again.”

Zoey grinned, genuine affection warming her chest. “Now you’re speaking my language. Go take your shower, order some takeout, and crash. We will talk tomorrow, and I promise I will download everything I am legally and physically allowed to share.”

“You’d better.”

“I will.”

“And Zoey?”

“Yes, Cathy?”

“If I discover that you’ve willingly walked headfirst into something dangerous and deliberately left me out of the loop, I am going to make your existence a living hell.”

Zoey chuckled softly, the tension finally evaporating from her shoulders. “That sounds precisely like the Catherine I know and adore.”

“Goodbye, Zoey.”

“Goodbye, Cathy. And welcome home.”

The line clicked dead.

Zoey lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank dark screen for a few seconds before letting out a dramatic, theatrical sigh and letting herself fall backward against the plush mountain of pillows.

“Well… that could have gone significantly worse.”

She threw her arm over her eyes, taking a moment to gather her equilibrium. She genuinely hated keeping secrets from Catherine; the three of them….and the traitorous Vanessa, had weathered enough college crises together that keeping omissions felt unnatural, almost like a betrayal of their unspoken pact.

Yet, this wasn’t a standard college secret.

This was an ancient, blood-soaked subterranean war involving immortal apex predators, billionaire enforcers, and secret societies of supernatural exterminators. And Iris was standing directly in the eye of the storm.

Until Iris felt secure enough in her new reality to peel back the curtain, Zoey’s lips were firmly sealed.

With a decisive nod to herself, she tossed the phone aside, sat up, and stretched her arms high above her head until her joints popped.

Then she glanced up at the antique gold clock ticking softly on the bedside table.

Her entire expression froze. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the hands of the clock.

Blinking once. Then twice. Then she snatched the heavy clock off the table and shoved it directly into her face.

“Eleven?”

Her voice scaled an octave, dripping with sheer, unadulterated shock.

“ELEVEN IN THE MORNING?”

She scrambled out from beneath the duvet so violently that her ankles nearly became ensnared in the fabric, nearly face-planting onto the Persian rug.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Zoey had never been an early bird by nature, but she certainly wasn’t accustomed to sleeping past nine, even on weekends.

Usually, her internal biological clock—fueled by anxiety, impending assignment deadlines, and a strictly managed bank account—dragged her out of bed long before the sun had even finished climbing over the Seattle skyline.

Yet this bed had apparently possessed hypnotic, gravitational properties.

She turned around, pointing an accusatory, trembling finger directly at the massive mattress.

“This is entirely your fault.”

The bed, naturally, offered zero counter-arguments, sitting there in its pristine, cloud-like luxury.

Zoey narrowed her eyes at the fluffy pillows. “I hope you realize that I am a college student with actual responsibilities, and I cannot afford to devolve into one of those spoiled ultra-rich aristocrats who slumbers away half the day expecting the universe to wait on their convenience.”

She paused, lowering her finger as she cast a lingering, affectionate glance back at the duvet.

“Although… to be entirely fair… I could probably get used to this level of decadence.”

With a reluctant, dramatic huff, she scooped up her toiletries bag from the nightstand and pivoted toward the adjoining bathroom..