The phone call had come at exactly four-fifteen in the morning, a violent, buzzing intrusion that shattered the fragile peace of my bedroom.
I had been asleep,truly, deeply asleep,for the first time in weeks. When the screen lit up, my finger had hovered over the decline button, ready to destroy whoever dared to wake me. Then I saw the caller ID.
Derrick.
I had expected a cold, clinical demand. I had expected my brother’s voice to hold the sterile, unyielding authority of a federal agent counting down the final hours of my empire’s destruction. Instead, when I pressed the receiver to my ear, I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.
Derrick was panting. He sounded young. He sounded terrified.
"Ash," he had whispered, the background noise filled with the frantic wail of an ambulance
