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The water was hot enough to turn the white subway tile of the shower into a blurred, sweating canvas.

Ava stood directly beneath the downpour, her eyes closed, her palms pressed flat against the cold porcelain wall. She let the scalding torrent hit the crown of her head, tracking the heavy beads as they rushed down the slope of her neck, pooling in the delicate hollows above her collarbones before spilling over the full, heavy curves of her breasts.

Every Thursday at 5:30 PM, this was the ritual. The washing away of the week's clutter. The meticulous prep work for her 7:00 PM appointment.

She opened her eyes, watching the water swirl down the drain. She reached for the soap, her fingers gliding over her own skin with a clinical, detached precision. She traced the soft sweep of her ribs, the narrow indentation of her waist, and the flare of her hips. Her body was a well-kept machine slender, pale, and entirely under her thumb. She didn't look at herself to admire the symmetry of her shape or the flush the heat brought to her thighs; she looked to ensure everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Controlled. Tidy.

Stepping out of the enclosure, the cool air of the bathroom hit her skin, sending a violent shiver through her limbs. The large mirror above the sink was completely opaque with thick white fog.

Ava extended a single index finger and wiped a clean, horizontal stroke through the condensation.

Her own face stared back at her. Dark hair clung wetly to her temples, framing a face that was sharp but softened by the deep, natural dimples in her cheeks whenever she forced a polite smile. Right now, there was no smile. Her lips were a straight, tense line. Her hazel eyes looked wide, the pupils slightly dilated. Anxiety was an invisible weight, but if she looked closely enough, she could see it in the slight, nearly imperceptible tremor of her jaw.

Breathe, she told herself, watching her chest rise and fall in the cleared glass. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

She dressed with the same rigid intention. No bright colors. Nothing that invited a second glance. A charcoal-grey pencil skirt that hit just below the knee, a black silk blouse buttoned precisely to the throat, and a pair of sheer black stockings that smoothed over the long, tight muscles of her legs. Finally, she slid her feet into her favorite pair of black patent-leather stilettos. The heels were high, forcing her posture into a strict, unyielding alignment, her shoulders thrown back, her chin parallel to the floor.

It was her armor. When she sat across from Dr. Evans, she wanted to look like a woman who had a handle on her life, even if she was paying a hundred and fifty dollars an hour to admit she didn't.

She grabbed her leather trench coat and her purse, checking her watch. 6:15 PM. Perfectly on schedule.

The apartment was silent as she walked toward the front door, the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of her stilettos against the hardwood floor the only sound breaking the quiet. She reached for the deadbolt, turning it with a familiar click, and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway of her building.

But as the heavy entry door of her apartment building swung shut behind her, cutting into the cool, damp evening air of the city, a sudden, cold prickle of awareness washed over the nape of her neck.

The street was quiet, illuminated by the amber glow of the overhead lamps. The rain had stopped half an hour ago, leaving the asphalt slick and reflective, mirroring the dark, empty sky.

Ava walked toward her car, her keys gripped tightly between her knuckles. The silence of the neighborhood suddenly felt heavy, almost suffocating. She stopped beside her driver-side door, her hand freezing a mere inch away from the handle.

The air smelled of wet earth, exhaust, and something else. Something faint but distinct.

Expensive cedarwood and rain.

She turned her head slowly, her eyes scanning the dark perimeter of the iron fence bordering the small park across the street. The shadows beneath the ancient oak trees were dense, thick enough to swallow a man whole. For a second, just a fraction of a heartbeat, she thought she saw a tall, imposing silhouette shifting within the dark leaves someone standing perfectly still, watching the clinic-bound path she took every single week.

Her breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around her keys until the metal bit painfully into her palm.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the branches, scattering heavy drops of leftover rain onto the pavement, and when the shadows settled, the space beneath the tree was entirely empty.

Ava forced a hard swallow, her heart beginning a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs. It's just the anxiety, she reasoned fiercely, unlocking her car with a sharp beep and sliding into the leather driver's seat. It's just the mind playing tricks before a session. She started the engine, her eyes darting one last time to the rearview mirror as she pulled away from the curb, completely unaware that from the deep, unlit corner of the alleyway behind her apartment, a pair of dark, predatory eyes watched her taillights bleed into the evening fog.