I remembered what happened.
I went to negotiate with Harrison Cole. He agreed—he'd approve my father's medical parole application, on one condition: I kneel on silver spikes for three hours and repent.
I did it.
But he went back on his word. Instead, three hours later, he walked toward me, the silver cones digging deeper into my knees. He lowered his face, one hand gripping my jaw, the other tearing my shirt open.
I shoved him back, stood up, and drove the silver spike into his shoulder. He stumbled back, and I ran. I collided with someone in the hallway.
And then…
A creak.
The door opened. I snapped my head toward it.
"Aria. You're awake."
Noah crossed the room in three strides, his hand already reaching for my forehead. His palm was warm and steady. He pressed it there for a mom
