The door was shut.

Leya hadn't left her bed for hours.

She stayed, at first, because it hurt. Bruises take their slow journeys along her ribs, down her arms, and the numbness of her cheekbone where Harrison's ring sliced into her. But in the morning, something else it was.

Hunger.

No food tray gets pushed in by the maids.

No water glass.

No knock.

No sound.

Nothing but silence.

And that cursed lock.

She tried to talk—to scream. Her throat was dry ...