*Aaron's POV*

I had two hours left before Violet's deadline, and the clink of ice against crystal in a dimly lit room was the only sound that accompanied my entrance. Mr. Henderson, his silver hair slicked back, eyed me with suspicion. Mr. Atwood, his fingers steepled and eyes sharp, nodded slightly. Mrs. LeCroix, draped in silk, regarded me with an unreadable expression.

"Evening," I said, voice low, the word hanging heavy with implication.

"Cut the ...