La Chambre Rouge

Paris held its breath at night.

Colby knew it the moment he stepped into the alley, where the walls sweated wine and ash, and a sliver of neon glowed like a blade through the fog. He shouldn’t have been there. Not in that arrondissement. Not in those boots. Not chasing a stranger he hadn’t even seen, only followed; first at the café, then through the metro tunnel, then into the streetlight-streaked dark.

But there’d been a signal. The way the man had looked back; once; then disappeared down a corridor between two shuttered bakeries. No name. No invitation. Just a promise made with eyes alone.

Colby followed.

He passed a closed bookshop and a bar still humming with tourists. When he found the door, it wasn’t marked. Just iron. A faint red glow leaked out from the crack beneath it like smoke.

He hesitated, heart low in his chest. Then he pushed.

Continue reading with full access to The House of Thorne.

UNLOCK FULL ACCESS