Early the next morning, Sienna drove to Newark.
Newark felt rough, forgotten.
Its edges were jagged, its silence deep and heavy.
The air smelled like rust and ghosts.
Perfect for someone trying to stay hidden.
The alley led her to a clinic not listed anywhere official, just like the forum post had claimed.
The receptionist glanced up the moment she stepped inside.
“You’re looking for someone,” he said flatly.
Sienna dropped a folded hundred-dollar bill on the counter.
“A woman came here six months ago. No name, but a glyph on her wrist.”
He looked at the bill, then at her.
“Are you a cop?”
“Do I look like one?”
“No. You seem more like someone asking questions about girls with glyphs."
He reached and pulled out a crumpled paper from under the counter.
It was a sketch o
