Raven was used to lies. She had built her career unraveling them, threading together what people didn’t say with the evidence they couldn’t hide. But Eden had become a place where the truth died quietly, and it always smelled like perfume and blood.
Talia hadn’t shown up for her shift. That alone wouldn’t be unusual, dancers flaked, got lost in substances or clients or their own chaos. But Talia didn’t just miss work, she didn’t text, didn’t answer calls and didn’t even show up in any of the usual places.
She had simply disappeared.
Raven stood in the dressing room, staring at her friend’s empty vanity. The bulbs glared above the mirror like interrogation lights. Lipstick was still open. A half-used eyelash glue bottle lay on its side. Her perfume bottle, the jasmine one, stood uncapped
