POV: Camilla
The neon sign outside my window flickered with a buzzing red light, casting shadows across the stained ceiling of the Queens motel room. The sound was constant. Every time it sputtered, the room plunged into darkness for half a second before the red bled back in, painting everything the color of old blood.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, wrapping my silk coat tighter around my shoulders. The fabric was real silk, but it did nothing against the chill seeping up through the thin mattress and into my bones. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and bleach, which told me the carpet hadn’t been cleaned for a long time.
Just twenty-four hours ago, I was waking up in the center of a fifty-million-dollar mansion, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, preparin
