November 1, Friday

THE NEW moon hung invisible in the inky black sky, a void that seemed to mirror the emptiness in my chest. I sat at my desk, staring at the cursor blinking on my laptop screen, but my mind kept circling back to Edra Waco's bombshell revelation.

Sawyer King was a Whisper. Not just any Whisper—an illegitimate heir.

With powers? I swallowed hard. A warlock?

It explained so much: his mysterious ability to repair headstones, his connection to the graveyard, his hot-and-cold behavior with me. Every interaction we'd had now took on new meaning, leaving me wondering how I could have been so blind.

"Focus, Josephine," I muttered, forcing my eyes back to the screen. Lady Kate and Lord Stonecraft's romance wasn't going to write itself, and Bruce was expecting the completed manuscript by the middle of the month. Given how many extensions he'd already given me, I was determined to turn it in early.

But how could I focus on fictional romance when my own love life had turned into a supernatural soap opera?

My phone buzzed—a text from Sawyer: Can we talk?

My heart did a little flip, but I forced myself to set the phone aside. Whatever secrets Sawyer wanted to share, whatever explanations he had to offer, they would have to wait. I had a deadline to meet.

I typed furiously, channeling my confusion and hurt into Lady Kate's confrontation with Lord Stonecraft about his own hidden identity. The words flowed easier now, fueled by raw emotion and first-hand experience.

A cool breeze rustled through the room, sending a shiver across my forearms. I glanced at the window, but it was closed. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

My phone buzzed again: Please, Josephine. It's important.

"Not as important as my career," I said aloud, though my voice wavered. The cursor continued its steady rhythm, mocking my attempts at productivity.

Outside, the darkness seemed deeper than usual, as if the new moon had sucked all light from the world. The Whisper Graveyard was a black void beyond my window.

But I couldn't let myself be pulled into another mystery, another layer of Irving's supernatural drama. I had to finish this book. I had to prove to everyone—Curtis, my mother, Bruce, myself—that I was more than just a victim of circumstance.

Even if it meant ignoring the man who made my heart race and my skin tingle. Even if it meant pushing away the first real connection I'd felt since Curtis's betrayal.

I saved my progress and checked the word count. Only twenty thousand words to go. I could do this. I had to do this.

My phone lit up again: I never meant to hurt you.

I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over the reply button. Then I switched it off and set it in a drawer.

"Sorry, Sawyer," I whispered to the darkness. "Your secrets will have to wait."

The cursor on my laptop screen blinked steadily, waiting for more words. I took a deep breath and began to type.

With my career on the line, I needed to work some magic of my own.