She had counted the lines on the ceiling too many times to keep track. She noticed each crack in the paint and every faint water stain had been etched into her mind.

The hours crawled by at an agonizing pace, stretching thin beneath the heavy weight of her thoughts.

Johnny had left hours ago. But she still felt helpless, helpless as one coup ever was.

The house still felt like a prison. A quiet, opulent cage wrapped in silk curtains and guarded by men in dark suits with cold, unreadable eyes.

She sat curled at the edge of the bed, knees drawn tightly to her chest, the dim light of...