The storm didn’t start with thunder.

It started with a name.

Angela Mark.

The girl Eliora hit with her car.

The girl Granny paid to disappear.

The girl who’d been silent for years.

Until now.

Vanessa tracked her down in a small town.

She worked at a school library.

Limped slightly.

Lived with her mother in a faded bungalow with cracked windows and warm eyes.

Angela remembered everything.

The screech of tires.

The scent of perfume in the air.

The girl behind the ...