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PROLOGUE

Now

Some mistakes walk in like they own the place.

You don’t stop them.

You just wonder how long it’ll take before they break something you can’t fix.

The room’s quiet.Too quiet, if I were the kind of person who believed in signs.

But I’m not.I never have been.

She’s on the bed, legs tucked under her, skin bare above the sheet.Still.

There’s a plate on the table no one touched.A half-finished drink sweating into the wood.

I’m cutting an apple.For no real reason.Just something to do with my hands.

It’s domestic.Almost stupid.

The knife scrapes against the plate.A slip.Barely a sound, but enough.

Enough to make me look up.

Enough to hear the hinge creak.

Enough to?—

The door explodes inward, the frame shuddering on its bolts.

Three men step through like mistakes that knew the way in.Like they’ve been here before.

I barely register the first hit.A crack across my cheekbone, fast and precise.

The blade in my hand drops.My knees go with it.

Someone kicks me in the side.Ribs, I think.Maybe kidney.

Then again.And again.Each one heavier than the last, making it clear that they’re not here for a fight.They’re here for ajob.

I get one hand under me before another kick folds me flat.

A hand fists in the back of my shirt, slams me down hard enough to bounce my teeth off the ground.

The cold tile digs into my cheek.Blood splatters across the floor with each exhale—quick, heavy bursts.

Across the room, I hear her move.

She gasps.Not loud.Not hysterical.

Just a sharp intake of breath, like she knew this was coming and hoped she was wrong.

She says, “Stop.”

One word.Clear.Controlled.

They don’t.