Prologue
ALLESIA
The room is dark. It always is.
I am used to the darkness, to the shadows that stretch across the cracked walls like silent watchers. The air smells of damp stone and old cigarette smoke, a scent that clings to my skin no matter how much I scrub. Somewhere beyond the locked door, laughter echoes—loud, cruel, filled with the kind of mirth that never reaches me.
I pull my knees to my chest, pressing my bare feet against the cold concrete floor. My fingers trace the edges of the thin blanket draped over my shoulders. It's not warm, but it's mine.
Outside, the gang celebrates something. A deal, perhaps. A new shipment. I never ask. Asking is dangerous.
Good girls don't ask questions.
I was taught that lesson long ago, though I do not remember when it started. My world has always been this—silent obedience, bruises fading into my skin like forgotten whispers, and the quiet understanding that my place is to serve. They told me I should be grateful. That the world outside these walls is crueler than what I know. That kindness is something I must earn through pain.
They said they were making me better.
I believed them.
Until now.
A sharp knock rips through the silence of my small space, followed by the scrape of a key in the lock. My heart stutters, but I don't move. The door swings open, revealing a man whose face I know too well.
Leo.
He steps inside, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, his grin lazy and full of sharp teeth. He reeks of alcohol.
"Get up," he orders, his voice thick. "Boss wants you to clean the upstairs rooms."
I move quickly, my body obeying before my mind fully catches up. A second too slow, and I will be punished. A wrong glance, and I will be punished. Speaking—if I could—would be the worst offense of all.
I slip past him, my head lowered. My feet are soundless as I walk down the dimly lit hallway, past doors that hold secrets I never dare to uncover.
The air feels different tonight.
The house is louder than usual, tension thick beneath the laughter. My skin prickles, an unfamiliar sensation curling in my stomach. Something is wrong.
And then I hear it.
A crash. Shouting. The sharp, unmistakable sound of gunfire.
Chaos erupts.
Screams echo through the walls. Glass shatters. I freeze in place, my hands gripping the edge of the stair railing. My heart slams against my ribs, my breath caught in my throat.
Leo swears, pulling out his gun.
And then, without thinking, I move.
I don't know where I am going. I don't know what is happening.
But I run.
For the first time in my life, I disobey.
The night swallows me whole as I slip through the back door, my bare feet hitting the wet pavement of the alley. The cold bites at my skin, but I don't stop. My legs scream in protest, exhaustion weighing me down, but I force myself forward.
Faster.
I don't know where I am. I don't know where to go.
And then I see him.
A man stands at the mouth of the alley, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He is tall, dressed in all black, his sharp features carved from stone. His eyes, cold and unyielding, lock onto mine.
Something about him makes my steps falter and my chest tighten.
Danger.
I should run but I don't.
Because for the first time in my life, I am looking at danger and thinking—maybe it won't hurt me.
Maybe, just maybe, this is what freedom looks like.
