Jessa

The bell over the boutique door chimed when we walked in, and my stomach immediately tied itself into a knot.

“Relax,” Mariah murmured beside me. “We’re here on a mission, not to be sacrificed.”

“Feels like a sacrifice,” I muttered.

The shop was small and kind of cozy, the kind of place that tried really hard not to feel intimidating—soft music, warm lighting, rows of dresses hanging like colorful clouds. The owner, Lydia, looked up from the counter and smiled as soon ...