The late afternoon sky hung heavy with gray clouds over the city’s women’s prison.

A wave of noise filled the air — reporters shouting, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward.

“Is it true Cassandra Valente is being released today?”

“Did Adrian Deveraux personally authorize it?”

The clamor grew louder as the iron gates creaked open.

From behind them emerged a woman in a neat outfit, her steps poised, her smile faint but victorious — Cassandra.

Her hair fluttered in the wind, her eyes calm and sharp, the look of someone who had just won a long, cruel game.

Behind her stood a tall man in a gray suit. The moment he...