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Chapter One Lana’s apartment was too quiet. She closed the door behind her, turned the lock, slid the chain across—and still, silence pressed in. Not the heavy, living silence that had followed the biker into the store, but a thin, hollow kind. The kind that filled empty apartments where no one waited up for you. She kicked off her shoes, let her bag slump to the floor, and drifted to the couch. The place was small, barely more than a box: sagging couch, thrift-store coffee table, peeling linoleum in the kitchenette. The kind of space meant to be temporary, except months had already slipped by, and she couldn’t tell anymore if she was staying out of survival or inertia. Her hands still trembled faintly. She pressed her palms together, tried to steady them, and told herself it was nothing—that the drunk had just rattled her. That was all. But when she shut her eyes, it wasn’t the drunk’s face she saw. It was the black visor, tilted just slightly, reflecting her face back at he...
