Meredith.
Wanda finally stopped halfway through the ground-floor hallway. Without a word, she turned toward a door on the right and began sifting through a thick bunch of keys.
A moment later, she selected one, slipped it into the lock, and twisted. The door clicked open.
I followed Kira and Deidra in, the warm air of the house giving way to pitch blackness—until
Wanda flipped the switch by the wall, and the room came to life.
Light poured across polished floors, soft cream walls, and minimalist décor, giving the space a sleek, almost hotel-like calm. Large furniture pieces—muted in tone but undeniably expensive—were arranged around a center rug.
The bed, framed in matte bronze and flanked by marble nightstands, was massive. Clean lines. Modern luxury. A far cry from the cold prison cell I had expected Wanda to shove me into.
I said nothing, though inwardly, I was stunned. Wanda gave me a real room?
