The motel door burst open, startling Mia so badly she dropped the cup of instant coffee she'd been nursing for the past hour. She grabbed the lamp—the only potential weapon within reach—and raised it defensively.

"Mia! It's me!"

The lamp nearly slipped from her fingers. "James?"

He stumbled into the small, dingy room, his face bruised and clothes torn. Blood had dried on his collar, and he walked with a noticeable limp. But he was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

"Oh my God!" ...