It was 4:03 AM when Cynthia stepped into her room, the silence swallowing her whole. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her heart still galloping from the weight of the night.

The air was cold, or maybe it was just the chill left behind by the haunting echo of Collins’ voice, replaying in her head from the audio file Damien had sent.

She was a mess. Her thoughts were scrambled, her hands unsteady as she dropped her purse and kicked off her shoes. Panic was creeping in, wrapping around her like invisible ropes.

Damien was about to be...