The moment Issac finished speaking, Natalie Pierce snatched up the glass ashtray from the nightstand and hurled it at him.
“Get out, you bastard!”
Issac dodged aside, slipped into his jacket, and left the hotel room with a frustrated sigh.
He flagged down a cab and rode toward the outskirts of Redharrow, toward an old residential slum—one of the last untouched pockets of the city.
As he walked down the narrow, cracked lanes, something heavy tightened in his chest.
He recognized every broken streetlight, every peeling wall, every rusted gate covered in sprayed-on demolition marks.
Home.
Or what remained of it.
His pace quickened—until a shout tore through the air from inside his old yard.
“Old man! Sign the damn papers!”
A cruel male voice.
Then another voice—shaking, older, pain
