Malia couldn’t sleep.
She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her body still trembling from Andrew’s threats. The words replayed in her head like a broken record: Steal from him. Or your sister dies.
It didn’t matter how many times she closed her eyes or pressed her palms against her ears, his voice wouldn’t leave her. Every time she blinked, she saw Ivy’s face—bright, soft, innocent—twisted in fear. Every time she exhaled, she imagined Andrew’s hand at her sister’s throat, squeezing until the light went out of her eyes.
The image made her stomach twist. She doubled over, curling against the sheets, pressing a fist against her mouth to stop herself from sobbing too loudly.
She couldn’t break. Not here. Not in this room where walls had ears and cameras had eyes.
But how was she supposed
