Aria's POV
When Mrs. Mrs. Jennifer left, my gaze snagged on the other street cleaner — the man everyone said had no family, living off scraps and favors. He lounged lazily on a bench near the hedges, his arms folded behind his head, his tools abandoned at his feet. His name was James, Anita's nephew.
Anita. The woman who'd cost me three thousand dollars with the snap of a finger. My fingers closed around the broom handle until the wood creaked.
James had slipped something into his pocket ten minutes ago. Now, he sat there like he owned the world.
I had no choice but to risk it all. It was either risk or retreat — and I'd promised Lana I would not let anyone take away what kept her alive. So risk it was.
Dusk bled into the streets. Under the street light, I kept sweeping, each stroke a
