Garrett Darkhowler had just watched his batshit ex-girlfriend turn her own execution into a full-blown roast, verbally eviscerating him, Fin, and half of Drakencrest—only for his best friend to get temporarily possessed and then reboot with the memory of a drunk goldfish.
He needed Agnes.
The woman was a chaos gremlin with a PhD in sarcasm, and right now that was the only cure. The last four hours had been so insane they required her special talent for reducing an apocalyptic shitshow into one devastatingly funny sentence. He needed her to make him laugh and point out how stupid all of that was.
He had fallen for that girl a long time ago, but he hadn't realized how bad it was until now. He'd only been gone a few hours, and he missed her.
He pushed open his chamber doors. Empty.
He trusted his instincts the way other kings trusted their advisors. His instincts had never lied to him and right now they were telling him something was wrong.
"Agnes?"
