PROLOGUE
WHEN THE NIGHT FELL APART
The night was supposed to be simple.
A girls’ night. Just laughter, music, a few drinks, and a moment to forget. Jane had insisted—said Amara was starting to look like a ghost in her skin. Bella had brought wine. The living room buzzed with warmth, the scent of pizza and scented candles filling the air. Loud American music spilt from the speaker, mixing with their giggles and off-beat dancing.
For the first time in a long while, Amara felt something that vaguely resembled peace.
Then the first bang on the door came like thunder.
The music died. Bella’s wine glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the tiles. Jane straightened, the high in her system visible in her wide, unblinking eyes.
A second bang followed—this time louder, more violent. The walls shook.
Amara’s heart kicked. “Who is that?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“No clue,” Jane said, rising to her feet, expression darkening.
She wasn’t sober. Amara had seen her take something earlier but was not sure what it was.— It was something that always made her bolder, louder, reckless. It numbed the fear.
But the fear was real.
The third bang exploded like a warning shot.
Then the door flew open.
Four masked men stormed into the apartment—dressed in black, faces obscured, guns raised.
“Get down! Nobody move!” one of them shouted.
Chaos erupted.
Bella collapsed to the floor, screaming. Amara’s body was locked in place. She tried to run, but her legs refused. Her breath came in panicked bursts. Her mind could barely catch up.
One of the men grabbed her.
Hard.
He dragged her by the arm across the floor, shouting something in Mandarin. She kicked, cried out, but he didn’t stop.
Then Jane moved.
“Let her go!” she screamed.
She shoved the man.
Everyone froze.
Jane stood barefoot in the middle of the room, high, furious, unafraid. She wasn’t thinking. Or maybe she didn’t care. Her eyes were glazed, but her voice was sharp.
“You think you can just barge in here?” she shouted. “You’re not touching her!”
The other girls screamed for her to stop. To lie low.
But Jane never listened.
The leader barked a command.
One of the gunmen turned.
Amara screamed.
The gun fired.
A single shot.
Jane staggered. The blood bloomed red across her chest like a grotesque flower.
Then she dropped.
Silence devoured the room.
The men ran. Out the broken door, into the night. Gone, as quickly as they came.
But the damage… it stayed.
Bella sobbed hysterically. Amara collapsed to her knees, crawling toward her friend.
“Jane?” she cried. “No, no—Jane!”
She cradled Jane’s body. The warmth was leaving fast. Her pulse was gone. Her eyes were open but already lifeless.
Someone called for help. Amara didn’t hear who. Her ears rang with the sound of that shot.
She pinched herself. Once. Twice. Over and over.
It didn’t wake her up.
This was real.
Jane was gone.
And something inside Amara cracked so violently, she didn’t know if she’d ever be whole again.
Because Jane hadn’t died by accident.
Someone had come for Amara.
And they had taken her instead.
