Ivana's POV

The television flickered across the pale walls of the apartment, the hum of Mala’s cheap ceiling fan mixing with the low voice of the news anchor. I wasn’t paying attention at first, I had been buried in manuscripts stacked high across the coffee table, fresh pages from the small publishing firm I had finally built established. My publishing firm which had the log *Prute House* printed on the corner of every draft, still felt surreal to me. i couldn't believe it, I was ...