Waking up felt like drowning. My head was pounding, everything sounded like it was underwater, and there was this sharp, hot pain drilling into my temple. I groaned and tried to move, but my arms felt heavy. My whole body did.
Then I remembered the last thing I saw—Alice’s face, cold and angry, the butt of a gun swinging straight at me.
“s**t,” I muttered, blinking against the blurry ceiling above me. Wood panels. Slanted. Must’ve been an attic. Or a cabin. Somewhere remote. Somewhere quiet.
Too quiet.
I shifted, my hands coming up automatically to touch my head. Not tied up. Small miracle.
There was a soft sound—sniffling.
I turned my head, slowly, wincing through the pain. And there she was. Alice, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a kid in time-out, her back against the wall,
