ella

ntirely alone with the dead. The deafening, relentless roar of the rushing river below the

in the cramped cabin. Francesca was dead weight, her body slipping awkwardly against the

I went down hard. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my left ankle, stealing the breath from my lungs. I bit down on my lip so hard

ly over the steering wheel. I adjusted my heavy wool coat over her shoulders, ensuring it draped naturally, and made sure m

melted into the freezing shadows of the dense woods. I crouche

have to w

night. Headlights slashed through the darkness as a black Cadillac swerv

. A few exaggerated gunshots rang out, echoing off the canyon walls. Then, stepp

ted hero of this narrative. He engaged in a brief, highly theatrical scuffle with his own hired *associates*. From my vantage point in th

ensive blue fabric. A calculate

his bleeding arm, his face twisting into a mask of manufactured agony and desperat

he driver's s

a masterclass in fake heartbreak. "Don'

und the stiffening, blood-soaked corpse of my traitorous maid, burying his face in

y wind biting at my cheeks, watching the Under