TETHERED TO SIN

CHAPTER ONE The city is colder than I expected. Not just the air, though the wind bites through my jacket and seeps into my bones like it has something to prove. It’s the kind of cold that wraps itself around your ribs and squeezes until breathing hurts. Everything moves too fast here, horns blaring, voices echoing off towering buildings, people brushing past without so much as a glance. I’m not used to being invisible. But that’s what I wanted, isn’t it? The cab drops me in front of the dorm building, and I hesitate for a second before getting out. It’s not like anything back home. It’s too tall, too modern, too impersonal. Back home, everything had a layer of warmth to it, even crime. Even the blood. I shouldn’t think about that. I pull my duffel bag over my shoulder and force my legs to move. My new student ID hangs from my neck, my new name printed in neat capital letters: Ayla Monroe. Not Moreno. Not the girl who saw her father die in a pool of his blood. Not the cartel princess the world might still be looking for. Just Ayla. Just a first-year student trying to blend in at Blackwell University. The receptionist in the lobby barely glanced at me before handing over a keycard and pointing toward the elevator. The ride up is quiet except for the buzzing in my head that hasn’t stopped since the plane landed. Third floor. Room 308. I push open the door and instantly hear music playing loud enough to vibrate the floor, soft enough not to be. One bed has already been claimed there’s a suitcase spilling clothes, sneakers abandoned near the closet, and a half-eaten bag of hot cheetos sitting on the desk. So much for getting here first. The bathroom door opens, and a girl comes out in a towel, steam still hanging in the air. She freezes when she sees me. “Well, hey,” she says, not even flinching. “You must be Monroe.” Her eyes sweep over me like she’s taking inventory, and I don’t know whether to stand my ground or disappear onto the floor. “Uh, yeah. Ayla.” My voice cracks slightly. She sticks out a damp hand, “Cassie said. Your new roommate. Hope you don’t snore.” I take her hand. Her grip is warm, firm. Confidence. There’s something about her face that’s hard to figure out. Sharp cheekbones, almond eyes, and a smile that looks like it hides secrets. Her black hair is twisted up in a bun, a single curl stuck to her temple. She gives the vibe of someone who’s been through things and came out the other side cooler for it. “Good timing,” she adds. “I took the bed by the window”. I nod, grateful she didn’t go for the territorial “my room” energy. As I begin unpacking, she throws on an oversized hoodie and settles on her bed cross-legged, watching me like I’m more interesting than whatever playlist is playing in the background. “You from the West Coast?” she asks, tossing a cheeto into her mouth. " Texas," I said. She nods slowly, like she hasn’t bought it but isn’t going to push, at least not yet. “You don’t sound Texan.” “I moved around a lot.” “Military brat?” I shrug. “Something like that.” Her eyes flashed, amused. “Mysterious. I like it.” I glance away and continue folding my clothes into the drawers, carefully with the notebook I tuck under my pillow. Inside it: a sketch of Papi’s face, unfinished. For a second, I’m back there. The house seemed quiet. “Papi, I’m home,” I’d called out. No answer. I’d checked every room like I was retracing my breath, growing more irritated each time I found it empty. He’d just called me ten minutes ago. Told me he had something important to say. And now… nothing. Then the office. That damn office. My hand had trembled on the doorknob. I remember that. The way my breath had stuck in my throat like glass. And when I opened it—God— The floor was stained red. His body was twisted in a way that didn’t make sense. His hand was still clutching the gun. Eyes open. Empty. Gone. “Hey,” Cassie says, pulling me back with a snap. “Are you good?” I blink. My nails have curled into my palm. “Yeah. Just a... long day.” She studies me for a beat too long. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” If only. I forced a smile. “First time in New York. It’s a lot.” “That’s fair,” she says, leaning back and propping her hands behind her. People only smile when they want something. But the disappointment fades once you stop hoping for warmth. “That’s... comforting.” She grins. “Stick with me, Texas, I’ll show you how to survive.” Later, we decided to walk around campus. Cassie claims it’s, so I “get the lay of the land,” but really, I think she just likes showing off how unbothered she is by the world. She walks like the city belongs to her. Confidence is loud. Me? “My head stays down, but nothing slips past my eyes.” I know better than to trust comfort. As we pass a side building near the library, something makes my skin crawl. A whisper of movement behind us. I glance over my shoulder and freeze. A man. Black hoodie. Too close. Eyes are too sharp. He stops when I look back, pretending to check his phone. But I know that look. It’s the kind of look you learn to spot when you grow up around men with guns and agendas. It’s the kind of look you memorize so you can decide whether to run or shoot first. Cassie doesn’t notice. She’s too busy telling me how the student center has the best coffee on campus. I force myself to keep walking. When we rounded the corner, I grabbed her arm. “What?” she says, startled. “There was a guy. Behind us. Following, maybe.” She frowns, immediately scanning the space. Her body goes tense, alert. “You sure?” I nod. She straightens, suddenly serious in a way I haven’t seen before. “Describe him.” “Hoodie. Tall. Shaved head. Kept his eyes on me even when I looked at him.” Cassie exhales, her eyes narrowing. “Alright. Don’t panic. Could be nothing. Could also be... anything.” “What does that mean?” She grabs my hand and tugs me toward the quad. “It means we’re going somewhere with cameras and people.” As we reach the center of the campus, the tension eases, but only slightly. Cassie watches me carefully, like she’s trying to figure something out. “Maybe a self-defense club wouldn’t be a bad idea. ""Have you thought about it?” she asks, sounding casual, but watching me closely. “Why?” “No reason,” she says, but the way she says it makes my skin prickle. “Just... you seem like someone who might need to know how to fight.” I open my mouth, then close it again. She’s right. I do. We sat on a bench in the open lawn, people everywhere, voices rising with laughter and chatter. But somehow, I feel completely alone. My phone buzzes in my pocket with a number I don’t recognize. Blocked. I didn’t answer. Instead, I stare ahead at the students passing by and try to Pretend I’m one of them. Just a girl on her first day of college. A blank slate. But blood doesn’t wash off that easily. And I think the past just found me.