POV: Olivia
The motel room smelled like bleach and old smoke.
I locked the chain, shoved a chair under the handle, and sat on the edge of the bed until the tremor in my legs eased. A neon sign buzzed outside the thin curtains, red light stuttering across the carpet like a pulse. Somewhere down the hall, a couple argued through a wall I could’ve pushed my thumb through.
I told the clerk my name was Liv Wade. Paid cash. No ID. No questions.
The nausea hit the moment the door shut.
I barely made it to the bathroom—knees on cracked tile, hands gripping the rim like it was the only thing keeping me tethered. When it passed, I rinsed my mouth, pressed a palm to my stomach, and waited for the spinning to stop.
It didn’t.
I slumped against the tub, counting breaths. Three in. Three out. Alo
