SCARLETT
The city lights look like a field of shattered stars. From thirty stories up, every rooftop and alley glows with its own secret pulse, and I can’t stop scanning for the flicker of movement that will tell me where he’s hiding.
My phone is still in my hand, the single text burning against the screen: Nice view.
Damien leans over my shoulder. “When did it come through?”
“Thirty seconds ago.” My voice is thinner than I want it to be.
He grabs his own phone, thumbs flying across the screen. “I’ll get Reilly on the line. Don’t move away from the window.”
“Why not?”
“Because if he’s watching, I want him to think we’re not scared.”
The problem is, I am scared so much that my hands tremble. I clench them into fists until the shaking stops.
Mom emerges from the bedroom, hair musse
