Then Rhys stepped out from behind a velvet curtain, smiling. “Joe,” he said softly. “You finally came to the final exam.”

“Professor Jonathan Moore,” the man said. “Or should I say… Joe.”

Joe’s hand moved toward the letter opener in his pocket — the one he’d taken from Nadia’s dorm room. He didn’t know yet that WMA stood for something worse than a secret society. It stood for We Make All — the algorithm that predicted every kill before it happened. And Joe Goldberg was never the hunter.

The invitation arrived not on paper but on skin — a tiny barcode tattooed inside the wrist of a dead man. Joe found it when he turned over Malcolm’s body for the third time, searching for clues he’d missed while pretending to be a grieving friend. The barcode, when scanned with a library’s old inventory gun, read only: WMA. 11:00. The Vault.

Error: Please enter a valid email address

Error: Invalid email

Error: Please enter your first name

Error: Please enter your last name

Error: Please enter a username

Error: Please enter a password

Error: Please confirm your password

Error: Password and password confirmation do not match