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Chapter 14 Shadows That Don’t Belong
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Chapter 16 Butterflies? Try Fireworks
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... the night like a whip. My sneakers screeched against wet pavement as I spun, lungs burning, fear burning hotter.
The figure tugged at the edge of their mask, fingers frantic, like tearing off their own skin. And then—
Oh God.
Not a stranger.
The face beneath was not what I expected. Not some alleyway creep with a knife. Or a kidnapper.
It’s Sandra.
Sandra from the front desk. Sandra, with her migraine-bright blouses and laugh that could double as ...
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