Cali Carter Alexis Monroe Jessa Rhodes Page

“Oh,” Alexis breathed. “It’s actually kind of beautiful.”

Pioneer Springs was not charming. It was a collection of boarded-up storefronts, a single blinking traffic light, and a gas station that looked like it had last seen a customer during the Carter administration. The pump wheezed when Cali pulled in. A crow sat on the roof of the empty convenience store, watching them with ancient, judgmental eyes. cali carter alexis monroe jessa rhodes

“I’m serious,” Alexis Monroe said from the back seat, fanning herself with a road atlas. “If we don’t see a gas station in the next ten miles, I’m going to start drinking the radiator fluid. And I will not be held responsible for the consequences.” “Oh,” Alexis breathed

Cali Carter, her hands steady on the wheel at ten and two, glanced in the rearview mirror. Even with mascara smudged under her eyes and her hair pulled into a messy knot, Alexis looked like she’d just stepped out of a magazine. That was her gift—effortless, almost accidental glamour. Jessa, by contrast, was all sharp angles and sharper wit, her red lips curved in a permanent smirk. Cali knew she herself was the anchor: taller, quieter, the one who read the fine print and made sure they actually had a hotel reservation. The pump wheezed when Cali pulled in

He was tall. Wearing a long coat. His face was lost in shadow, but in one hand he held something that glinted—not a weapon, but a film canister. Old. Tin.

From the passenger seat, Jessa Rhodes let out a low, throaty laugh. “You’d glow in the dark for a week, Alex. That’s not a good look for the premiere.”

“Well,” Jessa said, opening her door. The heat hit like a physical slap. “I’ve seen the opening scenes of enough horror movies to know we should not be here.”