Isolde's POV
The black hood of my cloak hid my face as I joined the line of Midnight Syndicate members filing into the basement laboratory. My disguise was simple but effective—dark robes, silver mask covering the upper half of my face, and a false identification medallion I'd stolen from a dead agent.
No one questioned me. Perfect.
The laboratory was hidden beneath an abandoned church, the irony not lost on me. Evil things happening in what was once a holy place. But then again, the Midnight Syndicate had always loved such twisted humor.
"Initiates to the left, full members to the right," barked a guard.
I moved left with the other low-ranking guys. Twenty years ago, I had been the Midnight Queen's right hand, her most trusted witch. Now I was sneaking in like a thief. Life had a way of coming full circle.
