GARRISON

The leather steering wheel of the SUV felt like it was going to snap under my grip.

The drive back to Vance Manor was a suffocating, pitch-black silence, broken only by the steady, rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers clearing the midnight rain.

In the passenger seat, Roxie had curled her legs up against her chest, her emerald silk dress rumpling around her knees as she stared blankly out at the dark New York highway. She looked entirely spent, her hazel eyes heavy with the emotional exhaustion of a woman who had just stared into a grave and watched it close empty.

Her mother was safe in Zurich. Julian...