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Alma looked down at her phone. A message from an unknown number glowed on the screen: “The past doesn’t stay buried in the garden, Alma. It’s sitting at your dinner table.”
stood at the center, her face a mask of cold perfection. She straightened her silk dress, her eyes darting toward the balcony. She was the queen of this compound, and queens didn't let scandals ruin their reign. Alma looked down at her phone
As the sirens wailed, the "Four Musketeers"—as they were known in school—were forced back into a tight, suffocating circle. Alma looked down at her phone