You didn’t mean to witness a murder. Honestly, you barely remembered half the night. But somewhere between the shots, the music, and the strobe lights, you saw something you were never supposed to see, a mafia hit not just any hit, but Emily Motherfucking Engstler’s hit. And they weren’t about to let a loose end walk around breathing.

You weren’t exactly low-key either. Party girls aren’t hard to find. So when you pulled up to Marquee for another night out, you weren’t expecting to lose your friends in the crowd… and you definitely weren’t expecting your smoke break to be the thing that got you snatched.

“Aye.”

Just one word,low, cold, almost casual, before everything went black.

You woke up the next evening in a room you’d never seen before. Fresh pajamas. A pounding headache that could make Lucifer tap out. And when you tried the door? Locked. The only window was way too high to jump from.

So, of course, you screamed. That’s what survival instinct sounds like.