flash
Dominic Vale’s grip on my wrist didn't loosen, but the fire in his eyes had dimmed to a strange, hollow longing. "Who are you?" he wheezed. / Chapter 2 / 10

Chapter 2 - THE SAFE HOUSEI didn't call the ambulance. Instead, I drove him to my cramped, one-bedroom apartment in the city’s forgotten corner. My training as a combat medic—a life I had abandoned after my husband’s death—kicked in. I treated his wound with medical-grade antiseptic and stitches from a kit I kept hidden in my floorboards.

As I worked, he watched me. His gaze felt like a weight. "You move like a soldier," he noted.

"I move like someone who wants to live," I countered.

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The heavy mahogany door of the east gallery closed softly behind me, but the silence inside did not comfort me. It pressed down like lead.

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The cool marble of the private east gallery felt chilling beneath my fingertips. The pale moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated The Blue Woman, the haunting masterpiece my mother had painted just weeks before her tragic death.

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