Kimberly's apartment felt both like home and like enemy territory when they finally arrived. She half-expected to find someone waiting inside, some new threat or message. But it was just her space, exactly as she'd left it. Lavender candles on the bathroom counter. Podcast equipment in her hidden studio. The lingering scent of the pizza they ate before the rushed visit to her mom's.

"I need a drink," Tasha announced, heading straight for the kitchen. "Do you have whiskey?"

"Of course."

While ...