MIRA

Before dawn, I'm already awake. My wrist still throbbing from last night's chaos. Jackson’s steady breathing warms my shoulder. I slip out of bed silently, picking up my coat and face cap, stepping into the dim hallway. I’m not running. I have unfinished business with Aurora.

As I watch her from the glass door of her hospital room, she looks nothing like the woman who once strutted through ball rooms in stilettos. She looks pale, trembling, her breaths shallow and rapid. The poison ...